


A Thrill of Hope

by ishtarelisheba



Series: my annual Christmas fic things [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Movie AU, for multiple characters, he's mostly spinner!Rum in a nice suit this go around, hospital stuff, i'm incapable of not giving them happy ending it's going to be okay, injury and health stuff, tw for talk of past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Moving back home to Storybrooke was a serious enough change for Reuel Gold, now with his small son in tow. An accident and ensuing 'complications' throw his world into chaos. Belle French, dealing with the overturning of her own world, is more than happy to drown it out by spending time with the man she's harbored a crush on for most of her life. Clinging to one another might just help them both make it through to the other side.(A Healing Hands movie AU)
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, RumBelle
Series: my annual Christmas fic things [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031832
Comments: 282
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re sure you want to go today?” he asked, helping Bae on with his boots. “You could wait until Monday, settle in for a few more days.”

They’d only just gotten good and moved into his aunties’ house. Not that they’d brought a great deal along to move in. Crossing the Atlantic didn’t lend itself to much luggage. The big pink Victorian was shiny and new to his son, but to him, it was comfortingly familiar.

“No.” His son gave him a stubborn look. “I want to go. Today.”

“Reuel, sweetling, don’t forget the baby’s lunch.” Wiola came hurrying into the living room, holding out a lunch bag in the shape of Captain America’s shield.

Forty-five years old. Sweetling. “I hadn’t forgotten.” 

“I’m not a baby.” Bae tucked his chin, looking up at Wiola. 

She bent down, taking his head between her hands, and dropped a kiss in the top of his dark curls before he yanked on his knit earflap hat. “You’re my baby. And so is your papa. Just ask him how well pouting about endearments goes.”

Bae took his lunch bag. “Is it peanut butter?” he asked his father.

“It’s egg salad,” Zinnia said from across the room, where she read the morning paper by the big picture window. “With lots of mustard. And _pimentos.”_

It was difficult not to laugh when his son’s small face pulled in disgust. “Peanut butter and plum jelly,” Reuel assured him.

After a peek in to make sure, Bae nodded. The strings attached to his earflaps bounced. 

“If you decide you want me to come fetch you, all you have to do is call.” He opened one mitten and then the other so that Bae could put his hands in. “You know I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Bae smiled. He threw his arms around his father’s neck, thumping him on the back with the lunch bag. “I’ll be okay, Papa.” 

Reuel hugged him tight. There’d been a lot of changes over the past year, especially for a child. Bae had weathered them well. Perhaps better than he had, himself.

“You ought get a move on,” Wiola told them, tapping her watchless wrist. She winked at Bae. “Just enough time to meet a friend or two before the bell rings.”

The drive was filled with excited gasps from the back seat. Bae exclaimed at every house with its Christmas decorations up. They’d gotten into town the day before Thanksgiving, and every time they ventured out, there were more lights and lawn ornaments. His son was living for it.

Bae leaned into the front to kiss his papa’s cheek noisily. “Have a good day!” he said before getting out.

“That’s my line!” Reuel called before the car door slammed.

He parked across the street. Bae went up to a small group of children and remained there until time to go inside. Reuel waited until his son disappeared through the double doors. 

Bae would be just fine, he told himself. They’d already done a quick tour and met his teacher, so the day wouldn’t hold too many surprises. His son was astonishingly personable, given his parents. He would have no trouble making friends.

His aunties’ shop would take the rest of his day. He left the school, making his way through town. In the middle of the square sat a massive, densely-branched fir, and he was certain it was bigger than the trees in the town square tended toward before he left. Someone was trying to outdo themself. It hadn’t yet been decorated, but Bae would be beside himself with joy when he saw.

The shop sign was exactly as he remembered. A golden needle on a dark, blue-gray background, their names in gold lettering.

**Zinnia and Wiola Sherman-Lis  
Tailoring and Dressmakers**

There’d been a big to-do when they set up shop. The town council wouldn’t allow his aunties to take down the old pawn shop shingle, claiming it as a historic landmark. When he got older, he understood that the entire fuss was because the mayor at the time didn’t like his aunties moving into town. It was a very ‘there goes the neighborhood’ bit of spite the man executed. So his aunties had ordered a pair of signs to hang on either side, obscuring the rotting piece of wood while technically not altering it at all. The mayor had been unable to do anything about it.

His shop key was still on his keyring. He let himself in.

The timing of his and Bae’s need for a change of scenery had perfectly coincided with his aunties’ decision to retire. It gave him a comfortable place to go and not just a job, but a profession he would be able to jump back into with a minimum of disruption to everyone’s lives. He hoped it would be a helpful move for all of them.

Even the smell of the shop hadn’t changed. Reuel went through to the back to light the furnace and take off his overcoat. He stayed near the closest heating vent, rubbing his hands together in the warm air, until the shop began to get a bit more tolerable in temperature.

For a little while, he allowed himself to simply enjoy existing in the space again. His aunties had suggested he get back in the swing of things by helping to decorate the inside. The shop front and windows had always been decorated very prettily no matter the time of year, but now it was the only shop on Main Street that hadn’t been decked out for Christmas. They hadn’t been able to fix it up the way they liked for a while, and he knew how it bothered them.

Their inability to keep regular hours as they once did meant there were houseplants in the front of the shop suffering from unavoidable neglect. His aunties were nothing if not consistent. There were a couple dozen plants, some hanging and some potted, all quite worse for the wear. After a look around, he went into the back to find the small watering can under the sink in the bathroom, right where it had always been. He filled it and set about giving the plants a drink.

“Your homes are familiar,” he said, lifting drooped leaves to look at pots and hanging baskets. “Are any of you descendants of the ones who knew me?”

There was a ti plant near the front window that he was certain was the same beast. It looked rather sad. He pulled away some dead greenery from most of the tenants he watered. Reuel wasn’t ready to give any of the plants up as beyond saving, though. He would give them care and time before declaring their fates.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Most people brought their books up to the desk, checked them out, and left. Not Ruth Nolan. Ruth always made two trips to the checkout desk. She came to the library ready for a discussion. Bringing a couple of books to Belle, she would remark on what she liked about the last ones she’d returned, and the librarian, without fail, had suggestions regarding what Ruth might like to try next.

Belle scanned in the additional seven books that Ruth brought back to her. “Enjoy your books, Mrs. Nolan. Have a nice day!”

Ruth beamed at her and took her now full tote away, satisfied for another two weeks. That smile upon finding new books - that was one of the best parts of being a librarian.

She leaned on the counter, waiting for the after-school rush that was coming. Mary Margaret had given her prior warning that there may be a herd of first graders looking for books for an assignment. There was a table set up out front with every children’s holiday book she had in the computer, just waiting for them.

The first kid through the door was not who she thought it would be, but she supposed she should have expected him at some point. She knew Reuel Gold was back in town. She’d seen him from afar at the grocery store, and had seen the little boy, too. Right away, she knew the boy was his son. There was no other possibility. The kid looked just like him, eyes and smile.

Reuel helped his son out of his mittens and coat, and the boy ran right up to her desk. “I need a book!” he announced with a smile that missed one of its lower teeth.

“And what kind of book do you need?” Belle asked, squinting playfully down at him. “Something about the history of the Ottoman Empire? I have a lovely new Frida Kahlo biography.”

He giggled. “I need a Christmas book for a school report.”

“Oh, well, then. Let’s get you a library card and you can take a look at what I have,” she told him, already pulling the form from under the desk.

By the time they’d finished filling out Bailey’s - Bae, he insisted - address and phone number, she was certain Reuel didn’t remember her. Bae carefully printed his name on the back of his card and she put it through the mini laminator that sat beside her computer. When she handed the finished card to him, he accepted it with awe.

“Can I get a book now?” he asked.

“See that table?” Belle pointed to where she’d arranged the children’s books. “Anything there will fit your assignment.”

Holding his library card close, Bae trotted over to look. A couple more kids came in while he worked on making a selection.

“You’ll have a constant patron in that one,” Reuel said, stepping closer to the desk.

Belle grinned over at him. “Good. Get them tiny and they’ll read forever.” 

“Sorry. Reuel Gold,” he introduced himself, holding a hand out to her. “We’ve just moved in with my aunts out on Elster Road.”

The way he rolled the ‘R’ on his name fluttered in the pit of her stomach. Taking his hand, she resisted telling him that she knew. “Belle French.”

His hand was warm, and he held onto hers for a long moment. Not that she minded in the least. 

“Are you taking over their shop?” she asked. “I might’ve seen you wiping down the windows when I came into work this morning.”

“I am. I’m hoping to have it open again in a week or so,” he confided with a smile that tugged just the smallest bit higher on one side. “There isn’t that much to clean up.”

Bae returned, sliding a book onto the desk. “This one, please.”

She scanned in _The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree._ “Oh, you’ll love this one. The art is beautiful, too.”

As though it were a plot he was working on, he told her, “I’m going to get Papa to read it to me first.”

“I like your sweater. It’s very festive,” Belle said as his father helped him on with his coat. 

It was the cute kind of ugly that won many a Christmas sweater contest. The sweater was green with gold tinsel ‘wrapped’ around it. Large, plastic beads in the shape of bulbs were scattered all over, and a sequined star sat just under the neckband.

“I picked it out myself!” Bae told her proudly.

Another handful of children came in, some parents tagging along, and a pair headed toward the desk with books in hand. Reuel guided his son a step back.

“Thank you,” he said, hurrying to get Bae’s mittens on him. “We’ll be by again soon.”

Belle gave them a quick wave and watched as they left. She greeted the kids who’d brought her their books, hoping to see Reuel and Bae long before they needed to come back to the library.


	2. Chapter 2

The ornament balls Auntie Zinnia handed up to him were as big as his head and covered with enough glitter that they shimmered under the light strings as though they were lit from inside. She gave him another of the soft gold decorations to hang from the underside of the awning. 

“It’s like this _every year?”_ Bae looked up in wonder.

Auntie Wiola produced a small candy cane from her coat pocket. Because obviously his son needed more sugar. “Every year!” she told him.

“You act as if we’ve never seen a Christmas,” Reuel said, shaking his head.

The little boy threw his hands up, indicating the lavish decorations on their shop and those surrounding. “Not like this!”

“So…” Zinnia began, and Reuel should have known what was coming. “We heard you met the librarian.”

He looked down, finding a pair of knowing and expectant auntie faces looking right back up at him. Of course this was the sort of thing they did when they had him in a position he couldn’t get quickly out of. 

“I took Bae in for a book. For school,” he said briefly.

They traded smiles that were entirely too pleased. Wiola reached to give his leg a gentle pat. “She’s such a sweet girl.”

“Always has a kind word for us when we see her,” Zinnia agreed.

Reuel caught another cord loop on one of the cup hooks installed in the awning. “She does seem nice.”

“She’s very nice!” Bae chimed in helpfully.

Wiola’s smile broadened. “She’s unattached, you know.”

“You don’t say.” He’d never have guessed, the way they were practically tying a bow around his neck to pop him through the library return slot.

Zinnia made a sound of encouragement. “And she’s got a lovely shape.”

“She does. Those little skirts and high heels? Tsk.” Wiola agreed with a cluck of her tongue.

Reuel felt his face flush hot in the cold air. It was silly. He was ridiculous. He’d been in Belle’s presence for all of ten minutes two days ago. She _was_ nice, and she’d been nothing but polite. That was the end of it. 

If he were being completely honest with himself, though, he couldn’t help feeling as if there were some spark there. A flicker of light. Her hand had felt so nice in his… And that was something he was going to keep wholly to himself, lest he be labeled a dirty old man before he’d been back in town a full week.

“I have a child,” he said.

Wiola hummed. “And you have a heart, too.”

“One needs taking care of as much as the other,” Zinnia told him, all teasing aside.

Belle was too pretty, too clever to fall in with him. That was the beginning and the end of it.

He was doing his best to pretend his aunties weren’t intent on improving his love life, and he very nearly lost an ornament. Auntie Wiola caught it, handing it back up to him.

“Oh, we shouldn’t have worried with these,” she fretted.

“Needs to be done,” Zinnia said. “We used to be known for our classy Christmas decorations.”

“We haven’t put these up in years.”

“Well, we have Reuel up the ladder now. He can do it.”

Wiola looked up at him. “Reuel, if you have something else you need to see to, the ornaments can wait.”

“It’s all right. No matter,” he assured them. “As Auntie Zinnia says, I’m already up the ladder.”

They continued fussing over him and talking over each other, one telling him how to manage the ornaments, the other telling him to be careful. At last he could handle no more.

“Why don’t you take Bae for some ice cream while I finish here?” Reuel said before they could steer the conversation back to a certain librarian. “There are only a few more. I’ll join you before you have a chance to sit down.”

Bae lit up. “Ice cream!”

“You’re sure?” Wiola asked, giving him a doubtful look.

Zinnia was already handing him the ornament cords. “We’re haranguing the boy,” she said as he put the loops onto his fingers.

The ice cream shop was just down the street, and Reuel saw them all the way to the door. He blew out a long breath in a puff of condensation on the air.

He had to climb down once to move the ladder, but the ornaments went up quickly without such great amounts of direction. Two left, and he could walk down to the ice cream shop, himself. Lifting one to catch it on a hook, the knot in the loop slipped loose just as it tried to take the ornament’s weight, and the cord slid through his fingers.

Trying to recover before it was lost, he reached to catch it.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

“Did August Booth return the first _The 13th Reality_ yet?” she asked as Dove passed her with the book cart.

“Yes, ma’am. It was in the return bin when I arrived this morning,” he rumbled.

Belle pulled her spoon out of her mouth upside down. “It needs to go behind the desk. There’s someone waiting on it.”

Dove nodded and paused to sort the book from the rest, placing it on the bottom shelf of the cart before he moved on. She couldn’t have asked for a better assistant librarian. On top of knowing what he was doing, he was excellent for re-shelving at the top of the stacks. The kids adored him, particularly when it was his turn to host storytime. And she had to admit, having a six foot, nine inch man who was built like a silo calling her ‘ma’am’ was a confidence builder.

She sat in one of the comfy reading chairs at the front window, sipping the last from a bowl of reheated carrot and ginger soup from last night’s dinner. Her spot there just happened to have an excellent view of the dress shop directly across the street.

When she was little, she wore dresses from Zinnia and Wiola’s shop. Her mother had them made, and she remembered Miss Wiola’s small, precise hands fitting her dresses and pinning up hems. She’d had a couple made after her mother died, but money was shorter and it just wasn’t the same.

She wanted to look into having Reuel make her a dress. If his aunts were confident enough in his abilities to hand the shop over to him, surely he had some striking talent.

Belle didn’t remember a _lot_ about him before he left. She remembered having something of a crush on him way back then, though, and having weeks of a little girl’s disappointment when he moved away. They hadn’t even really been acquainted, but her impression of him was enough to make her wonder what had happened to him over the years.

The idea of his hands on her now, measuring her, fitting her, did funny things to her heart. She took her teacup from the window sill and smiled into it.

It wasn’t at all beyond her to use the rest of her lunch break to admire the lines of him in that blessedly tailored coat as he hung decorations. She looked forward to seeing more of him. Ideally indoors, where he wouldn’t have on as many layers.

Belle saw the instant his foot slipped. The ladder tipped one way and he went the other, and he was too high up for the fall to not be a terrible one. She bolted from her seat, throwing open the library door to run across the street without her coat, calling his name.

“Reuel!” she yelled. He wasn’t moving. She had her phone out before she reached the sidewalk where he lay. “There’s been an accident at 3480 Main Street, in front of the dress shop. Hurry!” she told the operator on duty.

She knelt down next to him and set her phone beside her. The kind of stillness when someone was unconscious was unnerving. He’d hit his head on the ledge of the shop window as he went down. Blood began to pool on the concrete. She slipped the scarf carefully from his neck and wrapped it around her hand to make a pad, trying to press it carefully to his head. She knew enough to not move him. The few others who were out and saw what happened gathered around.

“Come on, Reuel,” she said, leaning down and willing him to open his eyes. “Wake up.”


	3. Chapter 3

Belle paced the floor outside of the glassed-in observation room. She wasn’t family, she should probably leave, she thought. That would leave his aunts and son there alone, though, and she just couldn’t bring herself to go.

Every time a nurse went into or came out of the room, Zinnia and Wiola wanted to know whether they could go in. And each time, they were gently told that they couldn’t, that no visitors could be in with him yet. Bae stood at the glass, watching. Occasionally, Wiola would go and guide him back to a chair, only for the boy to wander over a few minutes later.

The decorations around the waiting room seemed entirely too cheery for a place where people’s lives were in limbo. Garland hung above the doors and windows, dotted with small, red and white ornaments all over. A tall Christmas tree sat in the corner with some sort of donation tags hanging in with the rest of the trimmings. The nurse’s station had bendy-limbed elves all over the counters.

Dr. Whale walked through to the observation room, mindless of the women who followed him as far as the door. He stayed in the room, looking at monitors, peering into Reuel’s eyes with a penlight, moving from one side of the bed to the other. When he finally came out, it was to face the three of them, unmoving.

“How is he?”

“When will he wake up?”

“How badly is he hurt?”

The doctor ignored their questions in favor of looking at the file in his hands. After an amount of time that risked a very real throttling, he looked up at them. “How are you doing?”

“How do you _think_ we’re doing?” Zinnia snapped.

“Zinnia,” Wiola said quietly. She turned to the doctor. “How is Reuel?”

He made a thoughtful sound, flipping the chart shut. “We’ll know more soon.”

Shaking her head, Wiola refused to let him off so quickly. “Please, just tell us. Is he going to be all right?”

“Surely you know _something,”_ Zinnia pressed, taking hold of the sleeve of his white coat.

Dr. Whale glanced down at her hand, but he didn’t pull free. “Right now all we know is that he has some swelling of the brain.”

“What does that mean?” Wiola asked. “Memory loss? What?”

Zinnia’s frown deepened. “It means there could be permanent problems. Isn’t that right, Victor?”

“Permanent? What kind of permanent?” Wiola went tense with fear. 

With a sigh, Dr. Whale relented. “There could be motor issues. Muscle control, speech-”

“When will we know more?” Zinnia asked.

“It could be hours,” the doctor offered. “Could be days. Head injuries are unpredictable.”

“Well. We’ll be here when there’s news,” Wiola said, drawing herself up as tall as she could manage. She went to the nearest chair and parked herself there, showing him precisely how broad her stubborn streak was.

Dr. Whale pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Wiola…”

Zinnia did the same. She went to sit beside her wife, giving him a staunch look.

“I’ll tell you as soon as we know anything,” the doctor said before managing to make an escape.

Belle went back to stand next to Bae at the glass, looking in. After a moment, she felt a small hand slip into hers. 

“He’ll be okay,” she told Bae, and she hoped ferociously that she wasn’t wrong.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

There was a dinging noise. In a dream she couldn’t quite remember, there’d been a fire alarm, but the sound didn’t fade away when she woke.

Belle uncurled herself from the padded waiting room chair, looking around. They were the only ones still there. Bae was in Zinnia’s lap. She’d been singing softly to him, patting him in rhythm to the song until they both dropped off. Wiola’s head was on Zinna’s shoulder. Belle wasn't sure when or how she’d fallen asleep.

Rubbing her face to try and wake it up, she went to look in on Reuel. There was a nurse in with him to perform some checks. Another nurse hurried in, poking at a monitor. The dinging stopped.

Reuel’s face was flushed red around his cheeks. She squinted at the monitor the nurse had silenced. The temperature reading on it blinked bright and fast, flashing a red warning. It was at 102.4 and still rising.

“That’s not right,” the first nurse said, frowning at the monitor again before looking back to Reuel.

The reading hit 104 and kept going.

The second nurse who’d gone in peeled the covers off him. “He’s burning up. Get a bag of Caldolor. I’ll find a cooling blanket.”

Belle wondered if she should wake his aunts. She glanced back at them, still sleeping, and turned to the observation room again. The nurses seemed as if they knew what they were doing. She resolved to wake Zinnia and Wiola if it looked like the nurses were getting more concerned.

She stood to the side as the nurses brought equipment in. One hung a small bag of clear fluid and connected it to his IV line. The other rolled in a machine with bags stacked on top, and they set about opening them up. The only thing Belle really understood was when they hooked the machine up to something that looked like a small, blue plastic blanket.

They turned Reuel onto his side and put the plastic blanket down, covered it with a sheet, and rolled him onto it. One nurse quickly draped a sheet over him while the other connected another of the plastic blankets and placed it on top.

For long minutes, the nurses stood there and just watched the monitor. His temperature went down a single point. Then another. The second nurse checked the connections on the machine and left.

Belle wrapped her arms around herself, standing at the window and watching Reuel as though keeping her eyes on him would keep anything worse from happening.


	4. Chapter 4

Reuel’s aunts and Belle stood around the observation room door, effectively blocking Dr. Whale’s exit. They were waiting for him when his rounds took him through.

“He’s out of danger,” the doctor told them. “Whatever caused the fever spike, it’s over.”

“And you have no idea what could have caused it?” Wiola asked, clearly not appreciating the lack of explanation.

He shrugged, sticking a pen back into his coat pocket. “Any number of thiings.”

Zinnia did not look impressed.

“Why don’t you all get some rest?” Dr. Whale suggested. “He’s stable right now. Someone will let you know if he wakes.”

“We’ll be here _when_ Reuel wakes,” Zinnia informed the doctor.

Wiola stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Zinnia’s elbow. “Can we see him?”

Dr. Whale opened his mouth, then wavered under the stare they’d fixed him with. He finally gave, realizing he wouldn’t be allowed to escape until he did. “One person at a time.”

Zinnia nudged Wiola to go in first. She waited by the door then, looking on nervously as Wiola petted Reuel’s hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek, speaking softly to him. Wiola came out wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.

“He’ll be all right,” Zinnia whispered, supplying her wife with a handkerchief. She cupped her hands to Wiola’s face before going into the observation room.

Belle stood to one side, knowing she should just stay right where she was. It wasn’t her place to go into the room with him. She barely knew him. His family was there for him, and that’s the way it should be.

When Zinnia came out, she beckoned Bae over and leaned down to bring herself closer to his height. “Go on, love. Tell your papa you love him.”

Bae went slowly in. Reaching up, he placed a hand on the plastic rail and ran it along until he got down to the far end. He stepped up on a piece of metal underneath the bed so that he could rest his head on his father’s shoulder. When it became clear that Bae wasn’t going to leave on his own, Wiola went to bring him out. His small face was a great deal more downhearted than before he’d gone in. She ushered him over to the chairs and tried to sit him down.

“I’m hungry,” he told her very quietly.

“Oh, dear, of course you are. I’m so sorry,” Wiola said, petting his hair. “You haven’t had dinner. Shame on us.”

Zinnia gathered her purse. “You need to eat and take your morning medicine, too,” she reminded Wiola before turning to Belle. “Go on in with Reuel. Keep him company. If you don’t need to go?”

“No, I-” Belle looked over her shoulder at him. “The library’s taken care of. I can stay. You’re sure you want me to?”

“Of course,” Wiola told her as though it were the only conclusion. “You go in and talk to him. It’ll do you both good.”

What an odd thing to say. Belle watched them take Bae off the ward before she went into the room with Reuel. It still felt as though she shouldn’t be there. 

She pulled over a chair that had been pushed into the corner, grateful when it didn’t screech along the floor. For a while, she simply sat there, the feeling of awkwardness too great to speak out loud. What would he want to hear? What would his aunts and son want him to hear right now?

Softly, she said, “You need to open your eyes, Reuel. Your family misses you. They need you.” She looked around, at the people beginning to drift into the waiting room, at the nurses on duty behind their station. 

Lowering her voice further, she told him, “And I want a chance to get to know you.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

“The good news is the MRI shows his swelling is going down,” Dr. Whale said, for once talking _to_ them instead of down at his charts. “I’ll tell you now, it’s miraculous he lived through the temperature spike he did. They have the cooling blankets off him, though, and he’s holding stable.”

Zinnia nodded along. “We saw the nurses taking the plastic blankets off. That’s a good thing?”

“It’s a good thing,” the doctor confirmed. “But it’s important that you be prepared for possible consequences from his injuries. We don’t know what kind of effects the swelling _and_ the high fever might have.”

“His chances are good, though,” Wiola said, unwilling to accept anything less.

“The next twenty-four hours will probably tell the tale,” Dr. Whale said, steering around anything definite. “If he doesn’t wake by then, chances that he will begin to go down, and chances he’ll lose at least some of his faculties get higher.”

Wiola turned to Zinnia with a look of distress, and Zinnia took her hand.

“I’ll check in later,” the doctor said before moving on to another patient.

Reuel’s aunts sat down together. Belle went back to pacing. She couldn’t explain her need to stay, even to herself. She’d talked with Dove, and he was doing fine at the library helm, which was one worry off her mind.

A nurse went in, added something to the IV, checked on things, and left again. With his fever down, Reuel looked fine. He looked as though he should sit up any second. The injury to his head hadn’t even taken that many staples. It wasn’t the enormous, bloody gash into his skull she’d imagined it would be after holding his scarf against the bleeding.

Bae walked away from the window for the first time in an hour. He went to Wiola, climbing into her lap and melting against her when she wrapped her arms tightly about him. “Still sleeping,” Belle heard him whisper.

“Belle. Belle,” Zinnia said, repeating her name before it registered with her. “Come here, dear, and sit down.”

She interrupted her circuit of pacing to go and take a seat in one of the chairs facing them. Both ladies looked at her with kind smiles on their faces.

“Do you know how we acquired our Reuel?” Wiola asked, patting low on Bae’s back. 

Belle shook her head a little. “No, ma’am. I never heard.”

“He was three years old when got him as a foster,” Zinnia told her. A wistfulness took over her face. “We’d wanted children, the both of us. In those days, we couldn’t adopt together, you know. Wiola applied by herself and we waited a year to be placed.”

Bae’s eyes were drifting closed, and Wiola smiled down at him. “Reuel was our first. Ended up our only.”

“His mother’d died when he was a wee thing. His father was…” Zinnia’s expression went very angry for a moment.

Wiola frowned. “Let’s say unfit.”

“Let’s say horrifically abusive,” Zinna grumbled, glancing over to her. “Reuel was removed after the neighbor he was left with took him to the hospital because he was behaving funny. Shaken baby, it turned out.”

“There was a history of broken bones in his file,” Wiola said without looking away from Bae. She ran a hand over the curls at the side of his head.

Zinnia’s face seemed to crease further under the memories. “It was out of bloody spite the man never would terminate his rights so that Wiola could adopt Reuel.”

“He called us Auntie Why and Auntie Zia.” Wiola pushed a change of subject. “It was all he could wrap his tongue around at first. He was the darlingest child.”

“His father went to prison for some fraud something-or-other. Apparently he cheated the wrong inmate a few years in and we finally got our boy. Wiola adopted him as quick as they’d let her.”

“We stayed in Glasgow ’til Reuel was eleven. Maybe we fell victim to some of those American telly programs, but we decided we wanted to raise him in a small town here. A little village of some kind.”

Zinnia gave a short laugh. “We flew into Portland and stayed at an inn. Took a few days to drive around, and we ended up here on the coast. We fell in love with Storybrooke right away.”

Wiola smiled, adjusting her arm under Bae’s sleeping head. “Our shop here, we simply relocated it. There are actually a few women back there who still put in a few orders a year from us.”

“Reuel picked it up so quickly, the sewing and tailoring. He does beautiful work,” Zinnia praised. “He was working through entire orders before he went off to college.”

“I remember him leaving,” Belle said, trying to add _something_ to the conversation.

“He went back to Scotland,” Wiola told her.

Zinnia, pride practically shining from her, clarified. “Our boy attended University of Glasgow. He went for family law, became a child advocate barrister.”

“He remembers his father enough.” There was something sad in Wiola’s voice. She exchanged another glance with Zinnia. “We think he wanted to keep other children from suffering the way he did.”

Zinnia nodded her approval. “Every Christmas, without fail, we visited him. Until he got a steady job.”

“And then he paid our way to visit every time he had a twinge of missing us,” Wiola said. Her smile trembled a bit. “We were there when he got married, and when the baby came, and we had our own wedding there when they decided we could be legal.”

“His wife didn’t much care for us, but he didn’t let her stop him from bringing us over for visits.” There was a different sort of pride in Zinnia’s manner this time.

Belle found herself feeling proud _for_ their family. “My parents moved us here maybe a few months before he left. My only clear memory of him is meeting him at Any Given Sundae,” she told them. “He was so nice to me. This older boy ran into me and I dropped my ice cream. Reuel bought me another. A bigger one. With sprinkles and cherries.”

She couldn’t help smiling at the memory. There was a visceral feeling of adoration attached to it that she’d never quite gotten over.

Wiola grinned through Belle’s little story. “He _is_ the kindest boy.”

“I suppose it isn’t our tale to tell, what happened leading up to the divorce,” Zinnia went on, but there was some obvious resentment in there that wasn’t directed toward Reuel. “It was past time for us to retire, though. When we told Reuel we were going to look into selling the shop to someone who’d continue it, he asked us not to. Said he’d do it, himself.”

“He was looking for an excuse to move back. That’s what I think,” Wiola said to Belle with a soft wink.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

The blonde nurse from the day shift came out of Reuel’s room with a smile. “Looks like he’s trying to wake up,” she said, and Belle and his aunts popped to their feet. “You need to be calm. And be patient if he’s confused or doesn’t seem like himself.”

“Of course, of course,” Zinnia agreed brusquely.

Wiola took Bae’s hand when he tugged at her sleeve. “Can we _see_ him?”

“Oh, yes, certainly!” The nurse stepped back from the door so that they could follow her in.

Reuel’s right hand moved, his thumb stroking against the side of his forefinger. The motion was subtle but there.

“Talk to him. It helps,” the nurse said as she fussed with the thermal blanket tucked around him.

Zinnia rested a hand on the blanket over his chest. She patted him, speaking low. “Reuel, dear, it’s time to wake up.”

“We’ve been waiting for you to wake,” Wiola told him. She brought Bae closer to the side of the bed with her. “The baby is here, and he wants to see his papa’s eyes.”

“I’m not a baby,” Bae whispered indignantly.

Wiola gestured to Belle, encouraging her to say something. She felt at a loss. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she stepped close.

“Reuel?” she said, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

His brow creased, his eyes squeezing more tightly shut. He made a soft sound.

“Belle?” he breathed after a moment, sounding as confused as they’d been warned he might. His eyes opened the smallest crack.

Bae reached through the rail to grab hold of his father’s arm. “Papa!”

“Bae? What?” Reuel frowned, trying to move.

The nurse pushed herself in close, tutting. “I think we need to stay still for a while, Mr. Gold. At least until the doctor can look in.”

He startled, but he stopped squirming. “Doctor?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Belle asked.

Reuel made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “Something to put me in hospital, apparently.”

“You fell,” Zinnia told him. “You were working on decorating the shop and you fell from the ladder.”

He frowned again. “I don’t remember falling…”

“Yeah. Well.” Belle worried that he didn’t remember. “Trust me, you fell.”

“No, no, I believe you.” He blinked and opened his eyes wider, looking around at them. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”

“You didn’t cause trouble, sweetling.” Wiola leaned down, pressing a half dozen quick kisses to his cheek. “Oh, my dear.”

Zinnia, sniffling, turned away and rifled through her pockets for a handkerchief.

The emotion in the room wasn’t lost on Bae. His lower lip began to wobble. “Papa? You’re okay?”

“I think so.” Reuel lifted a hand, reaching out to touch his son’s cheek. Bae began crying in earnest and Wiola snugged him close to her.

Turning back to them, Zinnia came forward again to lean in and press her cheek to Reuel’s. “I shouldn’t’ve harped on those damned ornaments.”

“I don’t mind hanging the ornaments. I’ll do them,” he said as though that might be what it took to fix how upset his aunt was.

“You will _not!”_ Zinnia gasped. “No, we’ll hire a handyman. No more of you on that ladder, merciful God.”

Dr. Whale entered the room rather loudly. “Well! Look at you!”

“This is your doctor, Reuel,” Wiola told him.

“Jesus, Victor? You let Victor touch me?” Reuel muttered, clearly knowing the man. Zinnia snorted a laugh.

The doctor just gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry, the nurses did most of the touching.”

“I remember you in school.” Reuel made a scoffing sound and eyed him. “I don’t trust you an inch.”

With a perturbed expression, Dr. Whale clicked his pen violently closed and dropped it into his coat pocket. “I have a feeling he’s going to be just fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

He was long past restless when Victor at last gave the okay to send him home. A week in the hospital - that he was aware during, besides the three days he’d been unconscious - was more than enough. Reuel was unaccustomed to sitting in one place for great lengths of time. Being parked in a hospital bed and expected to stay there, submitting to tests every time Victor had the whim to inflict them was not his idea of a holiday. Physically, he was fine. Cognitively, he was fine. It was as if Victor wanted something lingering to be wrong with him.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Victor remarked during his last visit before Reuel’s discharge. 

From her seat by the window Reuel finally had when they moved him to a regular hospital room, Wiola told him, “We are aware.”

“We know precisely how lucky he is,” Zinnia let him know. 

The doctor cleared his throat, leaning against the corner ahead of the bathroom door. “I’ve never seen anything like it. If I’d given my honest opinion when they brought you in, I’d have said you’d never be outside of a care facility again.”

Reuel couldn’t help being a bit disturbed by that. The idea of how close he came to losing everything, to being lost, was painful.

“What do I need to know?” he asked. He knew they’d been doing bloodwork and giving him a couple of pills every night. “Prescriptions, directions?”

Victor pulled a dismissive face. “Not much. I suggest getting a bottle of ibuprofen on the way home. You might have some residual pain for a while, because you had a good whack on the head, and that’ll take care of it. Wash your hair. Come back in a week to have the staples removed.”

“Gladly,” Reuel said, tying his tie with sure fingers.

Over the past week or so, Whale had proven himself to be a passable doctor. That was all the leeway Reuel was prepared to give him.

“All right, go away. Get out of my hospital,” Whale goaded lightly. “Call me if you have any problems. Anything that might mean something’s changed in there. Your scans are fine, but there’s always the potential for something to go wonky with the brain.”

Reuel snorted. “Wonky. That’s medical terminology, eh?”

“Close enough,” Whale said over his shoulder on the way out.

Auntie Zinnia went to bring the car to the door, and Auntie Wiola stayed to walk down with him. There was no getting away from the wheelchair. The nurse brought it in and gave him no-nonsense direction into it, citing hospital policy and safety. If he’d been alone, he might have put up a fight, but his aunties had been through enough as it was.

He was liberating himself from the chair with the nurse hovering behind him when an ambulance came screaming into the emergency bay. A stretcher was unloaded and wheeled in before he could see who was on it, but the red-haired woman who got out after them and helped a little girl down was familiar. He thought he might have gone to school with her. They hurried in behind the paramedics.

“Poor Mr. Modista.” The nurse had stopped to watch, too. “Been in and out of the hospital for over a year, now.”

“Modista…” Reuel looked back at her. “Not Jefferson Modista.”

“Mmhm. That’s him,” she said with a nod.

He remembered Jefferson. They’d been great friends through school. Jefferson still sent him the occasional e-mail, but there’d been nothing health-related in them.

Reuel, gently herded by the nurse and his aunties, got into the back seat of the car with new concerns about his old friend.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

They made a quick stop at the library to pick up Bae, who had been dropped off to stay for storytime while his aunties were at the hospital. Wiola went inside to get him. Belle came out almost as soon as the door closed behind Wiola, and Reuel put down the window for her. He wouldn’t mind a bit of her sunshine just now.

“Bae told me you were getting out!” she said, all smiles. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Just fine.” He was unable to help reflecting her smile back to her. “Stapled rather like a tabloid for a few more days, but otherwise no worse for the wear.”

She’d been by the hospital a couple of times. Once she brought a plant. The second time, she brought by a purple box full of cocoa truffles from the sweets shop in town. Both presents had been appreciated, but she hadn’t stayed long on either visit. She left him wanting more of her.

“Good. I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Belle said, and he could see in her face that she honestly meant it.

“Thank you.” He lifted a hand, almost touching the staples in his head. Reuel knew he looked terrible. But, he supposed, it couldn’t be worse than being found bleeding on the sidewalk. “I’m glad to be going home.”

“Bae is beyond excited. He told everyone who stood still for half a second that his papa is coming home today,” she told him with a grin.

His son came running out of the library. “Papa!” Bae called, veering around Belle to pull the car door open and throw himself in on top of his father.

“You haven’t missed me, have you?” Reuel teased, snugging his son close. 

“Missed you _so much!”_ Bae said as though any insinuation otherwise was the deepest offense.

“Belle! There you are.” Wiola came out not far behind Bae, tugging her coat more closely around her against the sharp cold. “I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

“Tonight?” Belle asked, seeming surprised.

“I have a roast in the slow cooker, and Zinnia’s making one of her infamous bourbon pumpkin pies.” She gave Belle a wink. “We’re having a welcome home dinner for Reuel, and we would love to have you there, dear.”

Belle looked to him, her eyebrows raised in question. “If you’re not too tired for company?”

“A dinner guest certainly won’t do any harm,” he said. The thought of her joining them for dinner was _absolutely_ the topper to his day, but he didn’t want her to feel forced into it. She’d done enough. “If you want to come.”

She bounced on her toes a little. “I’d love that. What can I bring?”

“Well, we’re having potatoes and carrots in the roast, butter beans, and Yorkshire puddings,” Wiola said, opening the passenger door. “Bring whatever you think will go along.”

Bae waved at Belle as they drove away, and she waved back at him. Even when they were on the plane over the middle of the ocean, Reuel didn’t think he’d been this glad to be headed home.

“She was worried about you,” Zinnia told him, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Wiola hummed her agreement. “She stayed at the hospital with us the full time you were out.”

“I missed school,” Bae said, looking up at his father.

“I know.” Reuel ruffled the back of Bae’s hair. “We’ll make sure you catch up.”

He looked out the window, watching the main part of town go by. It wasn’t the first time his aunties remarked upon how Belle had stayed. He kept going back to _why?_ She’d found him, called help for him, but had she felt obligated beyond that?

Reuel was going back downstairs after a thorough and badly needed shower, and nearly ran into the side of a large fir being carried horizontally into the living room. His son was hopping along right behind the men from the tree lot. There was that taken care of, then. 

“When can we decorate it?” Bae asked, stretching an arm to pet the needles while the men wrestled the tree into the stand. 

“After dinner,” Wiola said. She stood by, hands clasped together in delight. “A good, fat tree. Thank you for choosing well for us, Gus.”

The tree trunk finally dropped into the stand with a _clunk_ and Gus let his employee twist the eye screws in to secure it. “You’re more than welcome. I don’t think we’ve ever had a season where we didn’t bring you a tree.”

Zinnia came in from the direction of the kitchen, holding out a folded bit of money. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Gus said, and he waited for his employee to cut the netting off. Before hustling away, he wished them, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” they all responded in somewhat of a jumble.

Reuel had to occupy his son with making paper chains to channel his excitement and keep Bae from opening up the storage boxes of tree trimmings. They were having a discussion about patience in front of the fireplace when someone knocked at the door.

Bae slipped down from his father’s lap. “I’ll get it!”

“You don’t know who it is,” Reuel warned, following. “You don’t ever open the door for a stranger, Bae.”

His son stopped, pressing his nose against the stained glass. “It’s not a stranger. It’s Belle,” he said, turning the lock. “Hi, Belle!”

“Hi there,” she greeted with some amusement, and Reuel had a feeling she’d heard them. She looked up at him. “Hey.”

“Hey. Come in, it’s freezing,” Reuel said. He guided Bae back from the door so that she could get inside. 

She carried a casserole dish covered in foil. “Where can I put this?”

“Oh, here, the kitchen is this way.” He took her through the house, wishing he’d gone ahead and put on something nicer than a sweater after his shower.

Wiola met them at the kitchen door. “Ooh, there you are! We’re not long for dinner,” she said, accepting the dish Belle proffered. “What have we here?”

There was the slightest pause. Reuel caught it, and he was certain his aunties did, as well.

“Baked macaroni and cheese,” Belle answered with a hopeful smile.

“I’ll put it in the warmer until we’re ready to sit.” The foil crinkled as Wiola took it off the dish. “My, that does look delicious!”

Bae made sure to have his chin over the edge of the counter to watch. The copious amounts of cheese on top were perfectly browned, with nice, crisp edges. He snuck a hand up to take a single noodle by its end where it stuck through the cheese.

 _“Yum!”_ Still smacking, Bae gave his hightest praise.

Zinnia went to look over Wiola’s shoulder. “Looks wonderful. Doesn’t it, Reuel?”

“It does,” he agreed. His son’s eyes were still on the casserole dish, little fingers tapping at the counter in consideration of another snitched bite. “You’d better get it in the warmer now if you don’t want Bae climbing in to eat his way out.”

Belle made a pained sound. Sheepishly, she confessed, “I had Granny make it for me. I can’t cook a lick.”

His aunties didn’t comment, only giving her a pair of mirthful looks. “Come on, dear, you can help Reuel set the table.”


	6. Chapter 6

Reuel lifted a section of browning fronds in a large fern, watering down into the soil. “Poor thing,” he murmured. 

Some of the plants looked as though they still might perk up. Others seemed doubtful. He went around again, checking and giving them water all the same. Getting to the little plant that Belle brought by the hospital, he stopped. It was a string-of-pearls succulent in a small, glossy red pot. When she gave it to him, it was a neat group of a few dozen tiny, spherical leaves. A starter for the waterfall he knew it would become. For now, until it needed transplanting into a hanging pot, it had pride of place in the front window. There would be plenty of light for it there.

This morning, the leaves had begun overflowing the edges of the pot. All that in only a few days. Reaching down, he ran his fingertips along the top of the plant, marveling. Perhaps it had been ready for a growth spurt. He checked the soil and gave it a brief sprinkle of water before moving on.

Bae set the shop bell jingling when he came in after school. “Papa, I hurt my finger,” he announced, sounding far more annoyed than upset.

Right behind him tagged along a small blonde girl wearing a knit hat with elf ears attached to the sides. She seemed far more concerned. “He picked up August’s donkey pencil sharpener off the ground, and August snatched it back.”

“Let me see,” Reuel said. He held a hand out and Bae put his in it, palm up. There was a grubby kleenex wrapped around Bae’s index finger. He took it off to find a good size blood blister forming. “Who’s your friend here?”

Bae gave the little blonde girl a sidelong look. “This is Emma. The teacher is her mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma.” Reuel smiled over at her.

Bae wiggled his finger and grimaced. “Ow.”

“August is a butt,” Emma pointed out, patting his back.

“Here, let’s clean it up,” Reuel said, sending his son ahead of him into the back room of the shop. 

After a good hand washing and a bit of peroxide for good measure, he put a waterproof plaster on the injured finger. Maybe it would last until bathtime, at least. Holding Bae’s hand between his, he kissed the top of it.

“Better?” he asked.

Bae at last smiled, nodding. “All better.”

A twinge went through Reuel’s temple and behind his right eye. “All right, then, go look after your worksheets at the cutting table. I have a bit more to do here before we go home.”

He ran a glass of water in the bathroom and took a couple of ibuprofen. It was the first of the residual pain he’d had that Victor told him might crop up. Reuel hoped it would solve itself sooner than later.

Going out front, he found Bae getting things out of his backpack. His son climbed up on the stool positioned beside a big, sleek oak countertop. It was empty now, and it had rarely been so that he could remember when his aunties were working. There were a few new bolts of fabric propped against the wall nearby, waiting for the plans he had for them.

Emma, her hat in her hand and long blonde curls half pulled out of their ponytail, stood over by one of the display mannequins. She gazed up at the red sequined dress on it. 

“Did you make it?” she asked.

“Not that, but I’ve made similar. One of my aunties made that one.” It was a bit old, but an excellent example for people coming in, nonetheless.

Emma turned, looking up at him now. “Did you want to make clothes when you grew up?”

“Well… Not in particular,” he admitted. “But I’m happy to be back here now.”

She beamed. “I’m gonna be a dragon rider when I grow up.”

Reuel kept his face as sober as he possibly could. “You keep working toward that.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

His aunties were upstairs having a nap. Or something. Which meant dinner was up to he and Bae.

Between the two of them, they’d looked in the fridge and pantry, and decided on stew. There was enough roast left over to make a nice pot. When they got home, Auntie Zinnia had a loaf of bread on its last rise. Reuel put the pan in the oven and set a timer. The stew would be done by the time the bread was.

He went to sit with his son at the kitchen table while dinner was at a stage where it could take care of itself for a while. Bae was filling in his English worksheet. There were ten sentences in large print across the page, a picture at the end of each line, and a word bank at the top. Reuel saw his science worksheet - discerning living from non-living things - sitting by finished. His math worksheet, not so much.

“What’s this?” Reuel reached across to touch the bottom of the paper, where addition problems were left unsolved.

“It made my brain tired,” Bae said longsufferingly. “I’ll do the rest after this one.”

He finished the last sentence on the page, crossed off the word in the bank, and slapped the piece of paper back into his folder with satisfaction. Reluctantly, he pulled the math worksheet back over in front of him.

“Does your finger still hurt?” his papa asked. 

Bae held his finger up, wiggling it. “Nope!”

“Can I see?” Reuel offered his hand.

Bae kept his finger helpfully in place and Reuel peeled the plaster off. The blood blister that had been there only a few hours ago was gone. Completely. He looked closer, thinking perhaps the blister had popped and drained, and it only looked like nothing. There was no bit of skin, though, and nothing on the sticking plaster, either. 

Well. Kids heal fast, he supposed.

He heard the stew bubbling. Standing, he pressed a kiss to the top of Bae’s head. “Finish your worksheets before dinner and I’ll read you an extra story at bedtime.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Five staples. It seemed as though there should have been more, all the trouble his fall caused. Victor had offered in that smartarse manner of his to let him keep the removed hardware, but he didn’t particularly want a souvenir.

Belle was on her way in as he was on the way out, and they very nearly collided with one another at the door. She startled out of some distraction when the glass door didn’t pull as she expected.

“Reuel,” she said, her smile taking longer than usual to appear. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, still just fine. As of today, I’m unstapled.” He held the door for her, stepping outside so that she could go in. “How are you?”

Belle shrugged without answering for an odd second. “Just a check-up. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course.” He let the door close behind her when she rushed off. 

She was usually more talkative. Reuel walked slowly back to the car, wondering. By the time he was halfway to the shop, he was trying to talk himself into asking her out on a real date, unchaperoned by parents or child.

Something of a shock met him when he switched the shop lights on. The plants, every single one, were absolutely _vibrant._ Flowering plants were flowering, every leaf and bit of greenery was beautiful and alive. He’d never seen plants so absurdly healthy.

For a moment, he stood still, only his eyes moving as he looked around as though they could be looking back at him. “Guess you just needed a wee bit of water, eh?”

He’d intended on getting right to work on a display dress this morning, but found himself poking and prodding at the plants out front. Not a single brown leaf or drooping stem. The string-of-pearls was grazing the window ledge. Before he could consider it too hard, his aunties came in with someone in tow.

“We’ve found a handyman!” Wiola said cheerfully. She sat down in one of the nice armchairs they kept for customers.

A man in gray coveralls held out his hand. “Michael Tillman.”

“Reuel Gold.” Reuel knew why they’d gone and hired someone, and truth be told, he was glad of it now. Still, it stung a tad. “Thank you for the help.”

“No problem,” Michael said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I run the auto shop down the street, but this time of year, extra money is always a good thing, y’know?”

“He’s going to finish all the decorations that involve feet coming off the floor.” Zinnia crossed her arms, giving no room for argument, anyway.

“The boxes are still next to the front door.” Reuel touched her back as he went past and she gave him a satisfied smile. “Auntie Wiola, would you have a look at the big fabric order with me? You’re the one who always put them in.”

“Oh, we started doing that online years ago,” she told him, dropping her purse into the chair behind her before she got up. “Much faster turnaround. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He knew very well where the company’s website was, but it was still nice to have her look over it the first time. The order was a sizable one and he wanted no errors. She went through it with a finger pointed at the screen, checking each line as she scrolled the form down. All was well. Reuel had barely hit ‘send’ when the bell in front rang.

“We need some help out here,” Zinnia called through the shop.

He and Wiola looked at one another before hurrying back out. The handyman sat on the window display ledge just inside the door, and Zinnia held one of her handkerchiefs to his forearm. The crisp white linen was already blooming with red. Reuel turned on his heel to go into the back and fetch a towel and the first aid kit that still sat on one of the work tables.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think we weren’t meant to decorate for Christmas. Goodness sake,” Zinnia fussed, shaking her head.

“Not your fault, ma’am. Awl slipped, is all,” Michael assured her.

“Let me see,” Reuel said, handing the kit to Wiola so he could fold the towel longways.

Zinnia took away the soaked handkerchief and blood ran down Michael’s arm from a startling slice through the skin. Reuel wrapped the towel around just above the man’s wrist, holding pressure on it. Michael grunted in pain at first.

Reuel’s head began to hurt, bringing dizziness with it this time. His eyes swam and he closed them, trying to shake it off.

“Auntie, here, I need to-” He waited until Wiola’s hands were on his to take over, and he stepped away to lean on the counter.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” Zinnia asked.

The handyman looked up. “For who?”

“Either one of you,” she said. “You both look like you’re liable to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Reuel claimed. “Just dizzy. It’ll pass.”

“Come back and sit down,” Auntie Wiola told him. “I’ll get you a cup of tea when we’ve finished.”

Reuel went to sit on the display ledge on the other side of his auntie. The pain didn’t get worse, but it didn’t get better. He could deal with it long enough to take a couple of painkillers with tea.

“I think it’s stopped bleeding,” Zinnia said. She held a stack of gauze in her hand, ready to put it on and tape it down. 

When Wiola cautiously took the towel away, the bleeding _had_ stopped. Because the handyman’s injury was gone. There was still blood staining the skin around it. Zinnia soaked the gauze she held with peroxide and wiped over Michael’s arm. The slice they’d all seen very clearly a few minutes before was no longer there. Reuel’s aunties looked at one another, then at him.

Still a bit pale and flustered, Michael gave a weak chuckle. “Huh. Guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Sure bled, though. That’s funny.”


	7. Chapter 7

Belle lingered in front of the dress shop window. New dresses blazed there in the display - holiday dresses that she was sure would lure people in. They couldn’t not.

There was a red Dupioni silk a-line with a boat neck and fitted sleeves. On the other side was a white, 50s style dress with three-quarter sleeves, silver snowflakes embroidered to fall diagonally from left shoulder to hem. Between them was a clingy, deep green velvet evening dress that gave her visions of being unzipped to slide to the floor.

Belle wished she could afford one of each. She’d never seen any of them before. Had Reuel made them? This quickly? That was something beyond impressive.

He could measure her in an hour, she thought. She hoped. If he was busy, she’d just come back again. Maybe make an appointment. She badly wanted to get it done now, though. Belle was done with wasting precious time.

The bell chimed over her head as she went inside. “Hello?” she said, not finding him.

Reuel came out from the back, smiling when he saw her. She loved the way his smile went a little lopsided.

“Are you here for social reasons or professional?” he asked, stopping half the shop away from her.

“Professional,” she replied and gave him a brassy look. If he wouldn’t keep going, she would. She walked right up to him. Almost close enough for a kiss. “I want a dress.”

He lit up a bit more. “Do you? Really?”

“I do.” Belle touched his tie, grinning at the subtle print of tiny nutcrackers on green silk. “It’s my lunch break and I thought we might at least get the measuring part done?”

“We certainly can.” His hand brushed against the inside of her wrist as he reached across for his inside jacket pocket. He took out a sleek, black tape measure with white numbers, letting it unravel in a coil. “Step up onto my fitting dais, Miss French,” he invited.

He walked her down to the far end of the shop, where there were mirrors conveniently placed to help show patrons’ angles in clothing. She’d been in front of those mirrors quite a few times over the years. This was familiar and novel at the same time, and Belle had butterflies. She got out of her coat, leaving it on a chair nearby. Reuel took her hand and she stepped up on the round, carpeted platform.

“Do you have a garment in mind?” he asked as he produced a small, hardcover notebook, laying it open on a side table that accompanied the armchair. “Or simply a full set of measurements for record?”

She couldn’t settle her mind enough to decide on a dress. “A set of measurements sounds right for now.”

With a nod, he set about his work. After each two measurements, he paused to write in his notebook. She could see his neat handwriting from her spot above. It was lovely, Reuel’s arms around her, being so close as he worked. His warm fingers grazed her as he drew the tape taut. It was too cold for it to have been practical, but she wished she’d worn less to cover her skin. He was as quick and professional about it as his aunts ever were, and to be honest, she’d rather he were being neither for her.

“There we go. All done,” Reuel said, coiling his measuring tape again. “When you’re ready to talk about garments you’d like, the shop will be open for you.”

“Just for me?” She looked down at him from the platform.

He smiled up at her. “Always for you.”

Belle brought a hand up to her chest, an afterthought finding the tiny pearl solitaire that hung higher to roll it between her fingers. She worried her lower lip between her teeth and ran scenarios through her thoughts of kissing him right there. She should. Why waste the time? It might weird him out, though, and maybe she should go slower? Marginally slower. Not too slow.

“Okay, I lied,” she said quickly, before she backed out. “I’m here for personal reasons, too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Fear pushed her forward instead of holding her back for once. “Go out to dinner with me.”

Reuel did look startled. She was glad she hadn’t given in to the urge to kiss him yet.

“When?” he asked, holding a hand out to help her step down.

“Tonight?” That might have been too soon. She had second thoughts. “Unless you have plans. I know you have stuff at home to-”

“Tonight sounds good,” he said before she could back out. “My aunties and Bae can handle each other.”

“Renzolla’s? At seven?” she suggested. “You can pick me up at the library. I live in the apartment over it.”

His smile resurfaced. “I’ll be there half an hour early.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

“Papa! Papa!” Bae shouted through the shop, his footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor as he ran into the back. “Come help!”

Reuel caught him around the shoulders, looking him over in a panic. No blood, apparently no broken bones. “What? Help what?”

“We got to Emma’s house and her bunny had got out and got too cold and wasn’t moving and we took it to the vet but he’s doing surgery and can’t see it yet,” Bae rattled off, out of breath and upset. He took his father’s hand, tugging at it. _“Please_ come help?”

“The vet?” Reuel shook his head, not understanding. “What do you mean? Help how?”

“Just _help,_ Papa!” his son insisted.

He’d been near ready to lock up, anyway. With Bae at his heels, he turned out the lights and locked the front door. The veterinarian’s clinic was halfway across town. That Bae had run all the way from there to the shop was testament to how urgent he felt the situation was. Reuel got him in the car and drove them downtown with a constant stream of, “Hurry! Please, hurry!” from the back seat. 

Bae ran ahead of him into the clinic. When he got inside, Bae’s friend, Emma, sat slouched down in one of the plastic waiting room chairs, sobbing inconsolably. A vet tech stood by, looking upset, herself.

“I’m so sorry,” the tech said, close to tears. Her name was embroidered in large, cutesy font on her uniform pocket - Ariel Halloran. “Dr. Thatcher is in surgery on-site with a horse c-section. There’s nothing I can do.”

Reuel wasn’t sure how he was meant to help if the vet tech couldn’t. It was nice that his son believed he could do anything, but what was he supposed to do?

“Em, let my papa see,” Bae said softly, reaching toward the front of her insulated coat.

She opened her coat, where she held the tan bunny inside against her. After a moment, she allowed Bae to take it out. He put it in his father’s hands. Reuel couldn’t exactly refuse.

It was little more than a baby, and the poor creature was absolutely cold.

Bae looked at him with big, imploring eyes. “Papa, tell it to get better.”

He felt as helpless as the tech. There was nothing he could _do._ Reuel held the bunny, trying to find words to tell an already distraught six-year-old girl that her pet was dead.

It moved. He felt it take a breath, growing warm between his hands. The vet tech’s mouth fell open as bunny wiggled to put itself upright, then poked its head out from the space of his thumb. 

“Buttercup!” Emma cried.

He let her take the squirming ball of fluff into her own hands, and she pressed her face to the bunny. Pain seared through Reuel’s eye, taking his breath, and he gritted his teeth against it. 

“Bae, I think it’s time we go. We’ll take Emma home,” he said, hurrying the children up and out of the clinic.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Belle sat at the library window, waiting for Reuel to drive up. He was right on time, to her delight. Locking the door behind her, she dropped the keys into her purse and got outside before he could take a step away from the car.

Damn, he looked nice. Reuel always looked nice, and maybe it was just the magic of looking forward to their date, but he seemed to look even better tonight. He had on one of his usual black suits and overcoats, and she was certain that it was tailored, the way it flattered him. His shirt was purple, and his tie a silvery plum color that would have been doubtful on anyone else. The way he dressed made her want to take him upstairs with her instead of out to dinner.

She might have skipped a few steps in the whole ‘new relationship’ thing, she realized. That was okay, though. She didn’t feel like dealing with some of those in-between steps right now.

Reuel opened the car door for her. He seemed nervous, and she wondered if it was the date he was nervous about or whether something had happened in his day between her visit to the shop and this evening. It didn’t keep him from giving her those smiles she couldn’t get enough of, at least.

Dinner was perfect. By the time they got past small talk, she was three glasses into the beautiful bottle of red wine she’d chosen. Reuel wasn’t drinking, she noticed. Probably a good idea with his recent head injury. And driving, too.

“Do you happen to remember me?” she asked, topping up her glass once more. Last time, she told herself.

“I… I’m not sure,” Reuel answered, looking as though he truly was thinking hard about it.

“I have this memory of you - just the one - before you moved away,” Belle told him. She took a sip of wine. “I was in the ice cream shop, and you bought me an ice cream after I dropped mine.”

“That was you!” His face lightened, whatever weighed on him tonight lifting for just a second.

“You really do remember?”

“I do. Some kid was barrelling through and knocked your bowl of ice cream out of your hand. I remember. That’s a _long_ time ago, now.”

It made something behind Belle’s ribcage flutter warm, knowing that he’d held onto the same memory. “My family had just moved here not long before that.”

“Talk about ships passing.” He gave a curious laugh. “Is the rest of your family still in town?”

“It was just me and my parents. My mom died when I was eight, so then it was just me and my dad for years,” Belle told him, trying to tone it light to avoid a sympathetic response. “When I went to college, he moved back to Australia.”

“You seem as if you’ve been doing all right here,” he said, and there was some tinge of question to it.

She nodded. “I have. Storybrooke is more home to me than anywhere else.”

“I feel the same way.” He sounded relieved.

“Your aunts told me you were a children’s advocate before you moved back here.” Belle felt quite how loose her tongue was. She’d have to be careful about that. Her filter got pretty thin when she was tipsy.

“I was,” he acknowledged. A look she recognized as somewhere between sadness and guilt crossed his face.

“Why did you decide to come back to the dress shop?” she asked.

A slight shrug moved his shoulders. “I burned out, I suppose.” He ran a fingertip across the rim of his water glass. “There was too much… awful. It got to a point where it didn’t matter how hard I fought, how well I presented my case, that wasn’t always enough. Toward the breaking point there, a couple of children, different cases, months apart, they died. A twelve-year old, then a five-year old. The judge ruled in favor of the biological parents, sent them back into abusive situations instead of keeping them in the foster homes where they were happy and well.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. The idea of fighting for someone only to have them thrown to the wolves was terrible.

“They weren’t the first. And they’d have been far from the last,” he told her with a sigh. “After twenty years, I couldn’t deal with it anymore.”

Belle frowned in sympathy with his pained expression. That was a _long_ time to handle seeing children harmed day in and day out. “I can see where that would burn you.”

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile pulling and then fading in the corner of his mouth. “I needed to get Bae and myself out of there. Home, here, was the best place for us.”

“I think I might love you.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Her eyes went wide, and his face was open with surprise. She looked at her fourth glass of wine, half full, and pushed it carefully away from her. She’d absolutely fallen headlong into loving him, and before tonight, but it was the wrong time to inform him of that. Belle wished very hard that she could rewind time ten seconds. Just ten seconds.

Instead, she had to ask, “Where’s the waiter?”

Reuel motioned, bringing their waiter over. To his credit, he made no observations about her declaration.

“Can I get some coffee? Strongest you have,” she whispered up to the young man. Thin filter. Thin, thin filter. To Reuel, she said, “I’m so sorry, I-”

“No, no,” he began, gesturing as though he could brush away possibly the most ill-timed words ever to have stumbled their way off her tongue. “It’s all right. The wine, it-”

“Pretend that didn’t come out of my mouth?” she pled slowly.

Saying no more, he nodded once. The waiter brought her a cup of coffee. She added plenty of sugar, a little cream, and blessedly, Reuel let her get a little bit of it in her before they continued.

After a while, he asked, “How did you become a librarian?”

“I went to school,” Belle said, feeling somewhat more clear-headed. “I have a PhD in library science.”

“What I mean is, what led you to become one?” he clarified.

She tapped a fingernail against the porcelain handle of her cup. “I love books,” she told him. That was a far better love declaration than the one she’d let slip. “And I love helping other people love books. The look on someone’s face when they catch on that the entire universe has opened up to them because of that little laminated piece of cardstock is priceless.”

“I can imagine it would feel good, indeed.” He sat back, relaxing a degree.

“You’ve done an amazing job with Bae,” Belle said, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. “The books he tends to gravitate toward are a couple of grade levels above his age, and he’s always excited to tell me what he thought of them.”

Reuel smiled. “I never know what to expect of him next. You know, he came running to me today to help his friend’s rabbit,” he said, and she could see that he immediately regretted it.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked. “You seem kind of apprehensive.”

“It’s been a strange few days,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” Belle encouraged.

He tilted his head back and forth, as though he debated saying more. “Bae hurt his finger a couple of days ago. The same evening, the blister disappeared. My aunts came ’round to the shop with a handyman to work on decorating yesterday, and the man hurt his arm. Cut it open pretty badly, seemed like. We were trying to stop the bleeding, thinking whether we should call an ambulance, and it went away.” Reuel snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

The way he looked at her, she could see he expected her to brush it off, to make excuses. “That _is_ odd. And the rabbit?”

“Oh. The rabbit got out of its hutch, got outside. It was cold and I just warmed it up.” He waved a dismissive hand, but he didn’t look as though he believed what he was saying. 

She smiled. It was a kind thing he’d done. “I bet his friend was happy to have their rabbit back.”

“She was, poor thing.” Reuel’s eyes drifted to the flickering candle off to the side in thought.

Belle steered the conversation lighter through the rest of their evening. They talked about the book order she hoped to get in before the New Year and his fabric order that was scheduled to arrive tomorrow. She told him about her assistant librarian, and how he’d barely talk to anyone before she had him start helping with storytime. Reuel told her how Bae feared he’d lost his favorite stuffed animal in the move.

Getting her home, he walked her to the library doors. They stood rather awkwardly under the security light, looking at one another.

“I had a nice night.” Reaching out, she gave his coat sleeve a tug.

His smile was a soft one when he said, “So did I.”

There was a moment of quiet again. She was afraid to let it go on too long, afraid he would just walk back to his car and go home, and that would be the end of their date. That wasn’t how she wanted the night to end.

“I want you to kiss me,” Belle told him, and this time she refused to blame the wine for it. She _wanted_ her goodnight kiss.

Reuel didn’t have to be asked twice, she gave him that. He leaned and kissed her. It was sweet, and he was so warm in the icy air. She slid her hands over his shoulders, curling her fingers into the hair near the base of his neck the way she’d wanted to since he walked into her library. His hands moved up to touch her sides, and she felt them hold onto handfuls of her dress. He wanted, too.

She had the overwhelming desire to invite him up to her apartment. It was only some extreme exercise of self restraint that kept her from it. She probably had as much wine running through her veins as blood right now, and she didn’t want that to be a part of tonight for either of them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Belle said before he leaned away, and in the still night, it sounded so loud.

He nodded slowly. “Tomorrow.”

She convinced her fingers to let go of his hair. Rising up on her toes, she stole one more kiss, patting his chest with both hands before going inside.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, _deck_ the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la!”

Reuel paused in the middle of cutting a skirt panel from a length of burgundy and bronze vined jacquard. He _knew_ that horribly off-key singing, and he was as surprised as he was pleased to hear it. Shaking his head, he finished cutting down the side of the pattern.

Uninterrupted, his visitor continued. _“’Tis_ the season to be jolly!”

From the back, Reuel said, “Jesus, who’s that strangling a duck?”

“Couldn’t carry a tune if it was an STD,” Jefferson called out in reply.

Reuel went through the shop to find him. “You’re terrible and you always have been.”

Jefferson smiled, but his words were breathless. “Heard you were back. Had to see the bad news for myself.”

“Look in the mirror,” Reuel told him.

He met Jefferson near the dais, and they hugged one another soundly. Jefferson gave him a hard pat to the back. He’d have returned the affectionate thump, but he worried what it might do. His old friend appeared, for lack of a kinder word, frail. Reuel pulled one armchair close to the other near Jefferson, gesturing for him to sit.

“You look good,” Jefferson said. “Especially for having knocked a hole in your head.”

Reuel snorted a short laugh. “You know you look great. You’ve always known.”

His friend grimaced and scoffed at that. “And you’ve always been the worst liar.”

“What is it?” Reuel asked, his pretense of cheer turning into genuine concern.

“Heart. Dilated cardiomyopathy.” Jefferson’s lip curled as he carefully pronounced his diagnosis.

Reuel recognized the words, but had no reference for what they meant. He’d need to look it up later. “They can’t do anything for it?”

“Pff,” Jefferson sputtered. He made a weak lifting motion with one hand. “Transplant. My antibodies are making it impossible to match me. The downside of being unique.”

Trying to bring up a smile for him, Reuel fell back to teasing. “As usual, your own worst enemy.”

“The more things change, huh?” Jefferson showed him one of those toothy white grins, but there wasn’t as much sparkle behind it as there used to be. “I was hoping to talk to you about making a suit for me.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“I still have the waistcoat and shirt you made me for that _Alice in Wonderland_ drama thing I got roped into in high school. They fit me again. Priss and I break them out occasionally, when I’m feeling _up_ for it.”

Reuel clucked his tongue. “Things I didn’t need to know. That poor waistcoat.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s seen a lot.” Jefferson chuckled. “I want a really nice suit. A three-piece. Something classy. For… special occasions,” he hedged.

“Of course I will,” Reuel told him. “I’d be proud to.”

He took Jefferson’s measurements, going through the process with breaks every few minutes so that Jefferson could sit and rest. Somewhere in there, he made a stout, fortifying pot of tea for them both.

Jefferson looked at the few examples of men’s suits that were in Reuel’s aunties’ immaculately kept catalogues. “Are there suits you like the look of somewhere else?” he asked, understanding that the designs in their binders weren’t exactly extensive in this case.

“I can find some, yeah,” Jefferson said, bringing out his phone. 

They talked styles and cuts and fabrics, and Reuel saw the common inspiration in the suits Jefferson showed him. He dug up one of the big, spiral-bound pads he’d seen his aunties use countless times, and he did some sketches to show Jefferson his thoughts on what would fit him best.

It was the unspoken that Reuel stumbled over again and again while they worked. His friend was asking for a suit to be buried in.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

He looked forward to getting home. Around noon, his son had texted him a photo of a miniature Christmas tree that found its way into the house. Bae had been talking about wanting a little tree for his room, and though Auntie Zinnia put up a good front, she and Auntie Wiola were both absolute pushovers. They’d decorate that before dinner, he figured. Then Bae would have him helping to wrap presents until bedtime. It might not be an epic adventure, but a calm evening of light strings, tinny Christmas carols on the radio, and Auntie Wiola’s gingerbread sounded ideal just now.

Barely onto Langdon Street, he slowed, finding the way blocked. A big, shiny green pickup fully obstructed the street, stopped diagonally across it. There were a couple of people standing on the other side of it. They looked down, visibly upset, but Reuel couldn’t see what was going on.

Getting out, Reuel walked down to look. Off to one side, there lay a mangled bicycle. One of its silver and purple streamers splayed on the road beside his foot. He hadn’t noticed it when he drove up, or maybe hadn’t understood the twisted shape of it until he got out. His stomach sank as he moved closer. He made his way around the truck. 

A small form lay in the middle of the street. The first thing Reuel’s brain decided to recognize was the knit hat with elf ears attached.

Bae’s little friend. Emma. 

On the far curb, there sat a tall, lanky man, head in his hands, sobbing and slurring drunkenly about his life being over. 

“We called 911,” said the woman standing there. “And the sheriff’s department. They said they’d handle calling the Nolans.”

A pair of children close to Emma’s age stood by, pale and stunned. They couldn’t take their eyes off her. She was still. There was no doubt at all that she was badly hurt. Reuel didn’t want to be there when her parents arrived. He didn’t want to see the waves of horror and grief that he could do nothing about.

Emma’s pale blonde hair was partially soaked through with red. So was one side of her white sweater. The paramedics wouldn’t have much to do when they arrived.

It was an awful thought, but he was thankful it was Sunday. Bae had gone Christmas shopping with his aunties. His son was meant to go home with Emma on Monday until after the shop closed.

He stepped closer, unable to stop himself. The increasingly strange coincidences he’d been a part of screamed through his head. Disappearing injuries. Emma’s rabbit. What he’d been trying so hard to ignore about them was the common detail. Him. That was ludicrous, though. It was impossible. The world didn’t _work_ that way.

But, then, it couldn’t hurt to try, could it? If nothing else, he could be there, keep her from being alone.

Kneeling down, he reached out for her hand. “Emma?”

“Don’t touch her!” snapped the man standing off to the side. “You’re not supposed to touch!”

He knew that. At this point, though, it wasn’t going to matter all that much.

Reuel wrapped his hand around hers. The other hand, he placed tentatively on her head. Her hair was slick with blood.

“Emma, I’m going to try,” he whispered, leaning down.

He closed his eyes, having no idea what to do to make it happen. Her fingers moved, closing and opening. Something was happening. It wasn’t enough, though. Reuel sat down on the asphalt and pulled her over onto his lap, into his arms.

The man still hovering off to one side gasped in outrage. “What if her neck is injured?”

He held Emma, cradling her head in the bend of his arm, feeling blood soak through his clothes all the way to his skin. With his free hand, he rubbed her back the way he’d done for Bae as a baby.

“Come on, Emma,” he said to her, closing his eyes again. “There’s people you don’t want to leave here.”

Pain like a red hot icepick went through his temple and into the back of his eye.

Emma began to cry. Great, shaking sobs, and she moved. She sat up when he took his hand from her back to press his fist against the side of his head. There was no other pain it compared to, the way it seared through him, but _Emma’s eyes were open._

She climbed off his lap, looking around in shock. The blood on her clothes. Her twisted up bicycle.

“Am I hurt?” she said, hiccupping tears. Emma patted her sweater where it was wet. “I don’t feel hurt?”

The ambulance and a police cruiser arrived at the same time, and there was chaos.

“Did anyone see what happened?” the sheriff asked.

“I saw!” said the man still standing there at the same time the woman who’d been looking on spoke up with, “I did!”

Paramedics guided Emma away to the back of the ambulance. Her parents - a man in a deputy uniform and a woman with a black pixie cut - arrived, yelling for her. They cast around before finding her at the ambulance, eyes concentrated only on the search for their daughter.

“Emma! Are you okay?” her mother asked, frantic.

Reuel watched as Emma cringed at the hard squeeze of her mother’s hug. “I’m okay, Mom, stop it.”

Her father ran his hands over her head, terror in his face. “What happened? Where’d this come from if you’re not hurt?”

“I saw Mr. Nottingham’s truck, and… I don’t know!” Emma said, and she began crying again.

Reuel knew he had to get out of there. He couldn’t answer questions. He didn’t know _how_ to answer the questions they would have. 

Making himself get to his feet, he felt his way around the other side of the truck to get back to his car. He made a slow U-turn, trying to focus, and took one of the back roads home.


	9. Chapter 9

He woke to Bae bouncing on the side of his bed. “Wake up, Papa! Auntie Zinnia’s making pancakes!”

“I’ll be right there,” Reuel told him, fighting the urge to go back to sleep. “Have to wash my face and brush my teeth. Have _you?”_

Bae stopped bouncing. He smiled the smile he gave when he’d been caught at something. “I’ll be right there!” he echoed before bolting out and across the hallway to his own room.

Reuel hummed a laugh and it didn’t send a lightning bolt of pain through his head. That was progress. He felt a touch better this morning. There was still a twinge behind his left eye, but nothing he and a couple of painkillers couldn’t handle. 

By the time he got home, he’d been barely able to make it upstairs. The most he managed was a shower, and that only because he had to wash the blood off him. Without dinner, he’d apologized to his son and gone to bed, exhausted and sick and in pain.

He shook two ibuprofen into his hand and took them with a sip of water after brushing his teeth, opting to avoid looking in the mirror. Nothing good could come of seeing how he looked this morning. Pulling on a pair of trousers and a sweater, he went downstairs. 

Bae stood right up against Zinnia’s leg, just tall enough to peep over the top of the stove while she made breakfast. Wiola sat at the kitchen table with the paper. And Reuel went straight to the coffee pot. Coffee would perk him up.

“Morning, dear,” Wiola greeted.

He realized he hadn’t said anything on his way through. “Good morning.”

“Morning!” Bae and Zinnia replied, his son’s voice chirping above hers.

“Have you seen this?” Wiola asked, folding the paper together again to turn it around and show him. “Of course not, though, it’s just arrived. Look. Look at that.”

Reuel took his coffee cup to the table and accepted the paper to see what she was trying to show him. And he nearly choked on his first sip.

**Miracle for Local Child Involved in Drunk Driving Accident**

“That’s…” he attempted eventually. He cleared his throat. “That’s something else.”

“Isn’t it, though? Lucky little girl. Could have been so much worse.” Wiola tsk-tsked and stirred her tea.

“I’ve been saying for years that Keith Nottingham is a public menace,” Zinnia said, flipping a pancake neatly. “He’s going to kill someone one of these days, mark my words.”

“Mm,” Wiola agreed. “I imagine he’s going to have something coming to him after this.”

Reuel read through the article. _“Keith hit her. I saw it from my porch,” declared Sean Herman, 32, pointing across to his home on Langdon Street. “Before the ambulance could get here, a man drove up and grabbed [the child] off the ground like he knew what he was doing.”_

_“He did something. CPR or something, I’m not sure,” Tiana Naveen, 27, informed Sheriff Graham Humbert in an interview over the aftermath of the near tragedy._

_Mr. Herman, whose wife is a nurse at Storybrooke General Hospital, is concerned that the child in question could be further injured by the unknown man’s efforts. “He could have killed her. What if there was some kind of spinal injury? There still might be!”_

_“I’ll tell you what I think. I think she wouldn’t be home with her parents if it weren’t for him,” Mrs. Naveen declared during her interview. “No one else knew what to do. We were standing around watching her die.”_

Bae brought his small cup of cocoa over, setting it on the table, and Reuel closed the paper. There was a great deal of dithering in the article. Talk of miracles and liability, Nottingham’s arrest, and more than one assertion that not a scratch was found on the child, who was never named. There was no mention of his name, either, and no hint that anyone knew who he was. That was a small relief. For once, he was glad that no one recognized him.

Wiola tapped on the table. “Isn’t that something?”

His response was short, as mild as he could make it. “It is.”

“It’s nonsense, is what it is,” Zinnia said as she set a platter full of fresh pancakes in the middle of the table. “That child was lucky, pure and simple.”

“Oh, Zinny. There’s more things in heaven and earth, and all,” Wiola reminded.

“What if it were?” Reuel folded the paper and handed his back. “What if there _were_ someone who could put their hands on people and heal them?”

“Well, that would be something, too!” Wiola said, smiling at him. She stabbed a pancake with a fork, moving it to Bae’s plate. “That kind of talent would be all manner of miraculous, sweetling.”

Zinnia made a short, dismissive sound. “You don’t believe in that mambo jumbo, Reuel.”

Quietly, to himself, he said, “I didn’t think I did.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Belle left her appointment in a daze. The elevator’s emptiness when it opened for her was a relief. Just a few moments of silence, that’s all she needed to make it through the ground floor and out to her car.

She took a deep breath and when she stepped off the elevator, the exit was within sight. Her intention was to go straight outside, where there was open air, where she wasn’t being suffocated by smells of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant and that sickly sweet odor that was too familiar not to make her stomach roll.

A familiar voice turned her head. “Thank you. I’ll bring it by after Christmas, if that’s all right?”

“That’s just fine,” said the nurse at the desk. “We always have someone in need.”

He turned and saw her. His surprised smile almost sent her over the edge into tears.

“Belle.” Reuel’s steps quickened to meet her.

“Just picking up some paperwork,” she lied, too quick to make an excuse. 

It was like the universe was throwing him at her. Belle couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful for that. She just wished the universe would choose a better place to throw him at her than the hospital.

“I was asking whether they accept donations,” he told her. “It turns out they do.”

“Donations?”

“Bae likes to buy presents for Santa.”

Belle didn’t quite connect that. “Presents for Santa.”

“Santa brings everyone else presents. Who brings presents to Santa?” Reuel asked, and from the way he toned it, she knew the questions had come from his son. “Telling him that Mrs. Claus handles that isn’t enough.”

She pressed her lips together in sentimental amusement. “Bless him. That’s so sweet.”

The folder holding all of the information the doctor had given her felt sticky in her hand, she’d held it in the same place so long. She resisted fiddling with it, not wanting to draw attention.

“What kind of things does he pick out?” she asked, taking a step to start them toward the door again.

Reuel began walking with her, thankfully. “Last year, I had to take him into BadRhino for a red dress shirt. The year before that, he chose a pair of fairly expensive insulated boots.”

“Because Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Precisely. I haven’t the faintest what he’ll go for this year.”

“It’s left out with milk and cookies?” Belle assumed.

“A bit of whisky and mince pie. Carrots for the reindeer. Santa takes it all with him when he leaves.” Reuel grinned over at her. “I donate Santa’s present to the hospital.”

“And that’s sweet of you,” she told him, touching his arm as they reached the parking lot.

He stopped, facing her. “Go out with me tomorrow?”

“When and where?” Belle asked before she could think too hard about it.

“Renzolla’s again? Same time?”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

She tilted her head back in wordless request of a kiss, and he gave her one. Then a second, both short and warm. More than anything right now, Belle wanted to go home with him, to surround herself with a family and a home that felt like a home.

Reuel had already gone by the time she got to her car. She’d parked at the far end of the lot, purposefully making a long walk for herself. She had meant it to be time enough to clear her head. There wasn’t a long enough walk for that now.

Belle sat in her car, staring up at the patient parking sign. The same words repeated and overlapped one another to clutter her thoughts. Words like, ‘we’ll see’ and ‘margins’ and ‘more tests.’

She tried desperately not to dissolve into tears. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It never had. She cranked the engine and put the car into reverse. Then she turned the engine off again, sinking down in the driver’s seat, and cried so hard her throat hurt. She thought about her mother, her grandmother, her aunt. Belle thought she’d been prepared. She thought she was being careful, paying attention, taking precautions. Not enough. Apparently nothing she’d done had been enough.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m thinking about that pinstripe,” Jefferson said, turning back a few fabric swatches in the book and smoothing down the material. “It’s not garish enough to embarrass Priss, but I like the look of it.”

“It’ll make you look ten foot tall,” Reuel ribbed him.

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. “Why is it you don’t wear pinstripes more often, then?”

Reuel brought a hand up to his tie, feigning dramatic offense. “Uncalled for.”

The shop bell rang, and he leaned to see Victoria Belfrey come clicking in on her high heels. She’d been in twice this week about having matching dresses made for her daughters.

“Hold that thought. This won’t take long,” he said, pushing up from the chair next to the cutting table to tend his customer. “Mrs. Belfrey! How are you?”

“I think I’ve decided on that style with the pointy back collar,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “And the green satin with white poinsettias.”

“I knew all you needed was a day or two to sleep on it.” Reuel brought an order sheet out from under the counter and began filling it in. “If you’ll bring your girls in for measurements the next few days, I’ll be able to get the dresses to you by Christmas.”

She puffed out a great sigh. “I’ll make room in my schedule to bring them by tomorrow.”

As Mrs. Belfrey left the shop, Bae and Emma caught the door to come in without setting the bell off again. “I thought you were at Emma’s today?” Reuel asked, sitting back down with Jefferson.

Bae plopped his backpack onto the cutting table, looking askance at the stranger there with his father. “Emma wanted to see some more dresses. Can I go to her house tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not.” Reuel gestured between Jefferson and his son to introduce them. “Jefferson, this is Bae. Bae, this is Jefferson Modista. He’s been my friend since I was not much older than you.”

“My, my,” Jefferson said, making a show of being impressed. “So, this is the young prince. Your father’s told me about you.”

Bae gave him a brief and rather shy, “Hi,” before edging closer to his papa.

“You’re the spitting image of him, you know,” Jefferson said. “Before he got old.”

Reuel clucked his tongue. “I’ll thank you not to curse the child.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jefferson counseled with a grin. “Your father always was a dashing thing.”

“Aye, now he’ll know you for a liar,” Reuel scolded.

He looked to Emma, standing near the empty display rack. She was still all right. Reuel tried to be subtle about the relieved breath he drew and let go of. Then it occurred to him how hard she was staring at him.

“There aren’t too many finished dresses around the shop just yet, but would you like to look at the catalogues?” he asked, hoping to sidetrack her. “There are pictures of every design my aunties made.”

Emma appeared as though she thought about it. She stepped closer and said softly, “It was you.”

He smiled. Oh, dear. “What was me?”

“You helped me. I remember you from when I got hurt. Or didn’t get hurt.” Her small eyebrows drew together in confusion. “But it was you.”

Reuel hesitated before finally saying, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Emma.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I remember you.”

The bell on the door jingled. Reuel got up, glad of the distraction. 

“Emma, baby, I forgot about your dentist appointment,” Mary Margaret said, hurrying through the shop.

Emma ran to her. “Mama-”

“I know. You can see your friend tomorrow, but there won’t be another appointment until February,” she went on, digging in her purse. “And you eat too much sugar to put it off.”

“Mama! This is him!” Emma insisted.

Mary Margaret looked up. “What?”

Bae’s eyes shifted curiously between the two of them, then to his father. 

“Everything all right?” Jefferson asked, unabashedly listening in.

“Everything’s fine,” Reuel called back without looking away.

“I told you,” Emma said, pointing to him. “It was him. Bae’s dad. He’s the one that helped me.”

Reuel ran a hand over his mouth. He frantically tried to come up with something to say. 

“Em, baby,” Mary Margaret said, clearly humoring her daughter. “There was a lot going on. Maybe you’re imagin-”

Emma stomped a foot, not having being ignored. “I’m not imagining! I remember!”

“Come on, we’ll talk about it more on the way to Dr. Tandfeen’s office.” Snapping her fingers, Mary Margaret pointed to the floor, expecting Emma to obey.

The little girl’s shoulders drooped. “But Mama…” 

Reuel cringed. His son was looking at him. It wasn’t right to let Emma be harangued like this into believing she was wrong. 

“Mrs. Nolan,” he said, damn his mouth. “She’s right.”

Mary Margeret turned to him, her eyes wide. “You’re serious?”

“I was on my way home and happened across the accident,” he told her. “I couldn’t leave without trying to help.”

“It was you?” She walked over, looking as though she were thinking of hugging him. With an emotional shake of her head, she did, flinging her arms around him. “Thank you, Mr. Gold. _Thank you.”_

“I- I didn’t- I’m sure she only had the wind knocked out of her,” he attempted.

“I don’t know what happened, but I know how much blood was on my daughter,” Mary Margaret said. “You saved her life. Somehow.”

Reuel looked to Jefferson over her shoulder, finding his friend watching him carefully. For a few long, uncomfortable moments, Mary Margaret hugged him as tightly as she could. When she stepped back, she sniffled.

“We do have to get to that appointment,” she said, waving Emma to her. “There isn’t a way to thank you enough, Mr. Gold. But I’ll try.”

They left, and Reuel stared after them until Bae tugged at the bottom of his jacket. “Papa?”

“It’s all right,” he said, running a hand over the back of his son’s hair. “Why don’t you go get a snack? There’s cinnamon rolls in the fridge.”

Bae eyed him, smiling, but went into the back of the shop, anyway. When Reuel returned to the cutting table, Jefferson was giving him a strong eyeballing, too.

Not feeling _at all_ like getting into what Jefferson was undoubtedly going to ask, he steered right past it. “About that pinstripe.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Belle wiggled a foot under the table, releasing anxious energy. She’d restricted herself to a single glass of wine. No more tipsy blabbing of thoughts that ought to remain in her head.

They spent much of their date talking about some of Reuel’s better court cases, her assistant librarian’s struggle to find a car that didn’t make him feel like a sardine, and the gingerbread house competition she hosted at the library every year on Christmas Eve Eve. He’d brought up Jefferson before their dinner plates were taken. She told him how she sent ‘the bookmobile’ - which consisted of her cramming boxes of books into the back seat and trunk of her car after work - around to the Modista house once a week with fresh books. 

“Did you see the story in the paper?” she asked over dessert, savoring her tricolor panna cotta nibble by nibble. “The one about the little girl someone saved?”

Reuel’s fork froze with a bite of dark chocolate cheesecake just caught on it. “I saw that one.”

“I guess Sidney deserves some credit for not saying outright who the girl was, but I know her. She comes into the library. Her mother was remarking on how lucky they were a couple of days ago,” Belle said, taking his pause for interest.

He set his fork down on the plate with a click and rubbed at his forehead.

She ducked her head a little to see his face. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he answered too quickly, showing her a smile that was in no way genuine. “I’m fine.”

“Whatever it is going on, you can talk to me about it. If you want to,” she offered.

There was something hopeful in his face when he looked up at her, but he followed it with a small, miserable sound. Something was eating at him.

Belle set her fork down, hoping he might talk. “Reuel?”

“It was me,” he almost whispered across the table to her.

“What was you?”

“The man who drove up to the accident with Emma. It was me.”

“Are you serious?” was her first reaction, and upon reflection, perhaps she should have waited for a more refined thought to present itself before letting it out of her mouth. 

He absolutely _was_ serious. And he looked pained by it. Reuel picked up his fork again, concentrating far too hard on mashing at the edge of his dessert with the tines.

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” she asked.

“I don’t want everyone to know.” He shook his head. “That isn’t why I did it.”

“But you saved her life, Reuel…”

“I don’t want it spread around. I just-”

“Oh, my God.” Belle blinked. “Is this about what you told me the other day? About Bae? And then the handyman? Was this something like that?

Reuel shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You healed Emma?” she said, leaning in to speak more softly, too aware this was something that should not be talked about in public.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. “I honestly don’t.”

She gaped at him for what was probably a good while before catching herself. Unfortunately, he’d seen her at it.

“Please, don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy,” Reuel said, glancing around the restaurant.

“No, no, I never thought anything like that.” She sat back in her chair, lacing her fingers together to physically keep herself from bringing a hand up to her chest. “I believe you.”

“I didn’t claim anything,” he corrected quickly. His expression had turned wary, worried.

“I know. It’s okay.” Belle sat up to reach across the table, beckoning with her fingers in ask for his hand. “I won’t tell anyone, Reuel. I promise.”

Reuel’s fingers closed around hers. “It comes with a price. Apparently.”

“What sort of price?” she asked, already worrying at the sound of that.

“It hurts.” He frowned as though he felt it. “You wouldn't believe how it hurts.”

“How do you mean? How does it hurt?”

“It started as a twinge, but I’m not sure whether that might’ve been how small Bae’s injury was,” he explained quietly. “The more it happens, the more pain there is. Through my head and into my eye, like a knife.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, squeezing his hand. If they weren’t in the middle of a restaurant, she’d have put her arms around him and refused to let go. “That doesn’t seem… fair.”

He gave her a sad sort of smile, shaking his head. “What’s fair ever had to do with anything?”

Somehow that didn’t seem right. That kind of hurting as a price for helping people. Healing caused him pain. Her heart sank. She felt a barely cracked-open door slam closed.


	11. Chapter 11

Reuel felt marginally more optimistic after a night’s sleep. Being around Belle made the world brighter and warmer somehow.

He’d dropped her off at the library doors again, and she’d kissed him again. Reuel hadn’t been kissed like that in… years. Perhaps ever. He had to remind himself to manage his expectations. Belle was unendingly sweet and kind, and he wasn’t the sort of man she needed. Or deserved. She deserved someone unbroken. Someone who wasn’t a walking disappointment.

Not that it stopped him from going back to what she said on their first date out after a wee bit too much wine, or from getting together with her as often as she asked or accepted an invitation. Reuel had never claimed to be particularly strong when faced with a beautiful woman.

Someone waited at the shop door. A man stood there, scuffing his feet and breathing into his gloved hands, looking around. When he saw Reuel, the sour look on his face transformed into keen interest.

“Reuel Gold?” the man asked, holding out a hand and walking toward him. “Sidney Glass, writer and editor for the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. I’d like to have a chat with you.”

Pulling his hand back, Reuel took his keys from his pocket. “I’m not sure what we’d have to chat about, Mr. Glass, unless it’s tailoring.”

“You _are_ the man who miraculously healed Emma Nolan, are you not?” Glass said, shoving his phone near Reuel’s face.

Reuel reeled back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Glass gave him a challenging look. “You brought Emma Nolan back to life. Half the town has seen her blood-soaked clothes by now, Mr. Gold. Are you denying you’re the miracle worker? Because my source is absolutely certain.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Reuel said, trying to get past him.

“Come on, Mr. Gold,” Glass cajoled. “You’re acknowledging there’s something to talk about. Sit down with me, give me a good, old fashioned interview. I’ll have it in the Mirror in the morning. You’ll be known nation-wide as a hero!”

Reuel shook his head. “That’s- that’s not- no.”

He was well aware that this was bad. Putting something like this in the media was good for only two things: ridicule and hysteria. He tried not to regret confirming Emma’s memory to her mother, but with this hack in his face, that was difficult.

Shouldering his way past Glass to try and get his key in the shop door, Reuel muttered to himself, “This isn’t want I wanted.”

“What _do_ you want, then, Mr. Gold?” The man’s cell phone appeared under his nose again, following him in.

“Please, Mr. Glass, unless you’re here for a suit, leave my shop.”

“You’ll receive oodles of publicity for your business, here. Wouldn’t you like that?” the journalist tempted. Or tried to.

The attempt only annoyed Reuel. “I’m asking politely once more. Please leave.”

Glass pulled his phone back, tapping at the screen, then raised it and took a photo.

“Are you serious?” Reuel scowled, going from frustrated and frightened to angry.

Smirking, Glass shrugged. “I need a picture for the front page of the Daily Mirror tomorrow whether you cooperate or not.”

The journalist walked away, making a quick exit across the street, and all Reuel could do was watch him take off. For a moment, he felt stuck. He had to open the shop. There would be a story about him on the front page tomorrow. But he needed to open the shop. Should he go home? Open the shop? Behave as if everything were normal?

Reuel managed to find the right key and get inside. He felt sick, hot and cold running over his skin. Taking his coat off, he pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket and sat to call home.

He should’ve told his aunties before, when the story about the accident came out in the paper. He’d never kept secrets from them, and it had been stupid to do so now.

“Auntie Wiola?” he said, glad she answered. “Can you come down to the shop? Both of you?”

Reuel paced from the front of the shop to the back, as though it would do something for his racing thoughts. His aunties didn’t take long to arrive. He was pacing toward the door when they walked in, and he went right to them.

“What’s the matter?” Wiola asked as she crossed the threshold. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt. It’s nothing like that,” he told her, and her worry appeared to dissipate a bit.

Auntie Zinnia closed the door behind her. “What is it? Wiola said you sounded beside yourself.”

“I wasn’t that urgent,” he said, but maybe he had been. He took to pacing across the shop in front of them, his hand fidgeting nervously.

“Reuel, sweetling, sit down and tell us what’s the matter.” Wiola followed for a few steps, trying to herd him toward a chair.

“Let him pace,” Zinnia fussed quietly. She took Wiola over to sit.

How was he meant to tell them this? He reached the far wall again and turned, facing them. There was nothing but to start at the beginning.

Reuel told them everything. He went through it in as much detail as he could manage. Bae’s hurt finger. The handyman they’d brought in. Emma’s bunny, then Emma. They listened with serious faces, concerned, not a single skeptical or amused look between them.

Teary-eyed, Wiola stood, walking to where he was. “You’ve always been a special boy.”

“We believe you, dear,” Auntie Zinnia said, and it was a near thing that he didn’t just sit down on the floor to cry.

“That man, the editor of the Mirror, he was here at the shop when I arrived this morning,” Reuel went on. “I didn’t talk to him. But he’s heard it from somewhere. Sounds as if he’s been told everything about Emma’s accident and what happened.”

 _“Oh,”_ Wiola huffed with a great deal of annoyance behind it. “That Sidney Glass, he’s always been a nasty wee clipe.”

Reuel lifted a hand, scrubbing it over his mouth. “He’s putting it in the paper. Tomorrow. He took a photo before I could stop him.”

“Oh, Reuel,” Zinnia tutted softly. She went to him, as well, touching her palm to his cheek. “I wish you’d been more careful.”

“So do I.” He frowned and took a step back from them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

Wiola caught his arm to stop him. “You are _not_ trouble, Reuel. And you are _not_ a disappointment.”

“You have never been either of those things for us,” Zinnia told him sternly. “You never will be.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever understood just how much we love you.” Lighting a hand on his shoulder, Wiola made him lean down so that she could kiss his cheek.

His throat felt tight. With his eyes beginning to burn, he went into the back to make a pot of tea. 

While the kettle was heating, he managed a little screwing of his courage to some sticking place or other and took out his phone again. He had to call Belle. She needed to know what would be in the morning paper, too, and in person.


	12. Chapter 12

“What are we having?” Belle asked as she walked into the kitchen with Reuel, Bae right behind them. “Reuel wasn’t sure when he invited me.”

“Evening!” Wiola smiled, barely looking up from her work at chopping a head of cabbage. “Zinnia’s going to put on pork chops in a while, and I’m working on a dish of rumbledethumps.”

“A dish of…” She took the dining chair across from Wiola.

“Rumbledethumps,” Wiola said again.

Belle looked to the large boiler of what she assumed were mashed potatoes where it sat nearby on a trivet, cooling. “Ah. Okay.”

“Potatoes, turnips, and cabbage,” Reuel translated helpfully. His hand rested on her shoulder for less than a second before he sat next to her. “All drowned in cheese.”

She nodded. “That, I can understand.”

“It doesn’t sound good,” Bae whispered aside to her, and he ran from the kitchen. His father snickered.

“He says that,” Zinnia remarked as he jostled past her in the doorway. “But he’ll eat anything put in front of him. Hello, dear.”

“Hi!” Belle turned in her chair, bumping Reuel with her knees. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can help by keeping Reuel occupied,” Wiola said, her smile having turned sly.

Tipping her chin up, Belle gave him a grin. “I think I can do that.”

Bae returned with a thick coloring book and a box of crayons. He knelt up in the dining chair on the other side of Belle to choose a page to work on, flipping through with a series of small “hmm” sounds.

She helped Reuel set the table again when dinner was ready. Sitting around the table with a family hit a soft spot she didn’t realize she had. It had been longer than she could remember since she’d had a real family meal, and here they were, virtually spoiling her to it. 

Despite his original doubts, Bae ate his way through two servings of rumbledethumps. He took his plate to the sink so that he could put his coloring book back on the table. Belle didn’t miss how Reuel and his aunts kept conversation at borderline small talk levels through the evening, but she went along, weighing in on Zinnia’s Christmas snow prediction and asking Wiola how she was enjoying the historical romance Belle had found for her. It was a lovely visit, but she felt something just the tiniest bit off-kilter. When Reuel asked at the end of the evening if he might drive her home, she had a feeling she might find out what it was.

Bae dropped his crayon into the crease of his coloring book and climbed down from the chair. He went to his father, beckoning him down. “My story?”

“If I’m not back in time for you to go to bed, Auntie Wiola will read you a bedtime story,” Reuel said, looking to her.

“Of course I will,” she reassured them. “Voices and all.”

Reuel dropped a kiss on top of his son’s head, and he went to get their coats.

“I’ll take care of him,” Belle promised Bae.

The little boy looked at her thoughtfully, then trotted over to her. She wasn’t sure why until he showed her the top of his head, pointing at it.

Reuel came back, coats over one arm and his keys in his hand. “He wants a kiss,” he said, a twitch of amusement in his smile.

She narrowly held back an ‘aww’ at Bae, but she could feel that she had the face for it. Bending down, she gave Bae a kiss, too. Satisfied, he ran off.

“One of my aunties will drop your car by the library tomorrow, if that’s all right?” Reuel asked as he walked her out.

She put a hand around his arm before they got down the steps. “They can. That’ll be all right.”

Reuel opened the car door for her. She wasn’t sure any man she’d dated had ever opened a car door for her. When he got in and started the engine, ‘I Saw Three Ships’ was already playing on the radio.

He started to reach for the tuning knob, but ended up turning the volume down a bit. “I would ask what you’d prefer listen to, but-” 

“But every station we get in town has gone over to Christmas music.” Belle gave a quiet chuckle. She’d been looking forward to it for weeks. “It’s okay. My car radio stays on carols, too.”

She didn’t mind so much that he was mostly quiet on the drive. It gave her a chance to mildly plot. By the time they got to her place, she had plans for a half dozen ways the rest of the night might go, depending on him.

He parked in front of the library, but she refused to end the night there. Not yet. 

“Let’s walk?” she said, running a hand down the lapel of his black wool overcoat.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“No, just around.”

Belle curled her hand in the bend of his elbow again. The smile that crossed his face when she did gave her the feeling he hadn’t experienced much kindness from women in his life that weren’t his aunts. Granted, he didn’t talk about his divorce, but that seemed strange to her. He’d been married, had a son. And yet, he still went a little backward when she showed him affection.

It was late enough that everything was closed and they were the only ones out. Main Street was as silent as it got. With Reuel, she paid more attention to what the businesses on their street had put in their windows for the holidays, rather than simply finding comfort in the entirety of it. She realized that the ice cream shop put up a candy cane striped tree with ‘chocolate’ decorations, and that Mr. Clark’s tree in the pharmacy window had antique oral thermometers all over it. The light strings all around the entrance to Tiana’s Place were in the shape of frogs. 

“Would you like to drop in at the shop, look at designs?” Reuel asked when they neared it.

“I’d love to.” She pressed herself closer to him. “I’ve been wanting to, but I was afraid you might be too busy for me to come by.”

“Never,” he told her with a look as though she’d insinuated he had grown a second head. “I’m never too busy for you.”

He let them into the dress shop and took her through the dark into the back before turning on the lights. Clearing a place at the end of a work table for her, he provided her with a couple of worn black binders filled with photographs of clothing. Most were made by his aunts, but he pointed out a few in the last pages that he’d done before leaving. Some of the pieces were dated, but many were classics that she could imagine on just about anyone even now. It was a good way to do business.

“I haven’t taken photos of the new pieces yet,” he said, sitting down on the stool next to hers. “Need to get around to that.”

“You certainly do,” she agreed. “The dresses in the window? They’re breathtaking.”

“They were quick. Flawed.”

“I doubt that.”

“The green velvet? There’s no closure at the back. I ran out of time before the shop opened that morning and pinned the back together,” he admitted.

“That’s not flawed. It’s just not quite finished,” she told him.

Reuel shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll put them in the catalogues, but I have to fix them, first.”

He showed her the new bolts of fabric that had come in, all laid out in layers on the other work table. She knew what she wanted him to make her a dress from the moment she saw it, but she couldn’t help wanting to touch each of them.

“Belle…” He ran the selvage of a bit of unrolled blue Georgette between his fingers. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

There was that miserable tinge to his voice again. She managed to not make some quippy remark. “What’s the matter?”

The sheer fabric waved over and under his fingertips. “Mrs. Nolan came into the shop yesterday to pick up Emma, and Emma pointed me out as the person who helped her the day of the accident.”

“You didn’t mention it last night.”

“I didn’t think it was terribly important at the time.” With dismay ekeing into his expression, he went on. “Mrs. Nolan started in telling Emma that she’d imagined it, and I felt so badly about it, I had to say something.”

“Oh, no, Reuel…” Belle knew where this was going.

“This morning, Sidney Glass ambushed me outside the shop here. It sounded as if he’d gotten a pretty thorough filling-in of what happened with Emma.” Embarrassment had Reuel’s eyes drifting downward. “He took a photo before I could stop him, and there’ll be another story in the paper, this time naming me. I can’t even imagine what kind of tale Glass is going to concoct.”

Well. That was worse than she thought. She put her hand on his, and his fidgeting stopped. “Sweetheart, Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret. She never could,” Belle told him. “She was on the prom committee, and everyone knew who the king and queen were a week ahead of the dance.”

With a soft, humorless snort, he said, “I wish I’d known that yesterday.”

“I’m sorry it’s coming out this way.”

“I just thought you should be aware of what and why, when the paper goes around in the morning.”

“Maybe it won’t be terrible?” she offered, though she knew how cruel Sidney could be. “Maybe it’ll be shrugged off and people will forget about it.”

The way he looked at her told her that he believed that about as much as she did. 

“At least you know it’s not going to scare me off. Nothing is going to scare me off,” Belle told him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

She caught the toe of her shoe behind the rung of the stool she perched on, balancing herself so that she could lean far enough to reach him. He kept still, letting her hold the mostly closed kiss for as long as she wanted. Belle stayed close when she broke the kiss and he leaned in to touch his forehead to hers. She felt the breath he sighed out ghost warm over her face.

There were a hell of a lot of things in life that she wasn’t sure of anymore, and none of them were Reuel. She’d never had this kind of terrible, aching _want_ for anyone before. She needed to get him home with her. Needed his hands on her, his mouth on her. She was done tiptoeing around. If she left it up to him, she would never get him to bed.

“Come home with me,” she said.

He sat back, giving her room. “I’ll walk you over.”

“No, I mean I want you to come home with me tonight,” Belle told him, words mostly unminced. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

Reuel simply looked at her for a few seconds. “You’re certain?”

“I’ve been restraining myself from dragging you up to my bedroom for weeks, Reuel,” she said, and he looked as though he were suddenly reevaluating a great many things.

He nodded and tilted his head. “I’ll… yeah. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

Belle slid down off the stool to grab her coat. “I’m ready.”

She’d never been so happy that her library was so near his shop. They crossed the street and she was home. 

The library was dark when she locked the door behind them, but she knew her way through as well as he knew the way through his shop. She took him upstairs, where there was a nightlight in the hallway over her apartment door. 

Her apartment wasn’t the most spectacular, decoration-wise. She’d put up a tiny tree with miniature book ornaments and small pieces of origami on it, and a silver snowflake on top, but she saved the real decorating effort for downstairs. No one ever saw her apartment except her, after all. She put her things on the table by the door, got out of her coat, and decided that she needed another kiss. Or he needed another. Either way. She caught her hands in his scarf to bring him down to her. 

Belle led him by the hand to her bedroom. He stopped halfway down the hall, not letting her pull him farther.

“Why?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘why?’”

Reuel shook his head, looking down the few steps to her door instead of at her. “There are so many men in town who have eyes for you.”

She blew a short raspberry. “Oh, bull.”

“I’ve _seen_ the way they…” One corner of his mouth quirked a little. “You have your pick of them. Why am I here?”

“I’m taking my pick,” she said simply, pulling herself back to him with his hand. “The first night we went out, you remember?”

His expression softened. “I remember.”

“It wasn’t the wine,” she told him. “Okay, it was partly the wine. It was the wine that made it go flying out of my mouth. But the sentiment was all me. It was mine.”

There was a flicker of unsureness between his eyebrows. More than ever, she wanted to _make_ him sure of her. Belle got him the rest of the distance, taking him into her bedroom. She was glad she’d made an effort to make her bed and get clothes into the hamper this morning. 

The hand she held, she brought up to her blouse buttons, hoping to get him started. As for herself, she knew where she wanted to begin. She went right to tugging his tie loose. It slipped easily out from under his collar once she had it undone. 

Reuel’s fingers worked through her buttons more slowly. He looked down at her as if he expected her to change her mind any second. She insinuated her hands between the shoulders of his waistcoat and his suit jacket, pushing jacket and coat together down until he had to get his arms out of them. There. Fewer layers. Belle slid her fingers along his sides, over the closely tailored fabric of his waistcoat, enjoying the solid warmth of him through it before she began unbuttoning. By the time she had his shirt undone and tugged out of the waist of his trousers, he’d gotten through her blouse buttons.

“Undress me, Reuel,” she encouraged him, pulling his soft undershirt up so that she could get her hands on his skin.

He hissed in a breath when she ran her palms over his sides and up the back of his shirt. “I’m doing my best while being mercilessly distracted,” he said, his jaw tight.

Belle smiled, taking her hands back to get her arms out of her blouse, letting it fall onto the floor. She stepped out of her shoes, and a moment later, that proved unwise. It put her farther out of reach when she had a mind to kiss him. Climbing onto her bed, she knelt up at the edge to make herself taller again.

“Let me see, I’ll get your cufflinks,” she told him and held out a hand until he offered her one of his. 

His cufflinks were round, onyx on one side and engraved with initials on the reverse. When she held the first up after removing it, he got right away what she wanted.

“Nathaniel,” he said, giving her his middle name.

“Reuel Nathaniel. That has a nice sound to it.” Belle took the other from his cuff and set the little pieces of jewelry on her nightstand.

He stole a kiss, quick and plucking gently at her lower lip. “Glad you approve.”

His fingers found the zipper at the side of her skirt, and she reached behind her to pop open her bra. There was a part of her that wondered if she should wait. A few more dates. After the holidays. After…

 _No._ She wasn’t about to deny herself this now. Not knowing what she had to do tomorrow.

She’d thought about it constantly since he entrusted her with the knowledge of what was happening to him. And she thought about it again now. Thinking was not doing, though, and she couldn’t do that. Not knowing how it hurt him.

Belle let her bra slide off her arms and dropped it, and she pushed her skirt, tights, and panties down all at once. His hands stroked over her bare hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles against her skin.

“Don’t, um-” she began.

He stopped. “Don’t?”

Pulling at the sides of his open dress shirt, she drew him closer to her. “Don’t be too careful.”

Reuel gave her a curious look, but he moved to shrug out of his shirt. He took his undershirt off over his head. It gave her the perfect excuse to get her fingers in his hair again. She brushed it back away from his face and he caught one of her hands, pressing his lips to her palm. Her breath caught. He let her hand turn in his, holding it aside cradled in his own as he might if they danced. The way he looked straight into her eyes made her insides feel like she was falling with no ground threatening to come up for her. Belle stroked her thumb along the side of his, down across the inside of his wrist, and it was his breath that stuttered this time.

“I love you, too,” he told her, seeming as if there were more he wanted to say that he couldn’t get out. “I love you.”

With her free hand, she started unbuckling his belt, bringing the other down to help. When she had it open, he took the initiative with his trousers. She took the chance to wriggle the rest of the way out of her clothes, pushing the ridiculous knot of them onto the floor. Those were a problem for tomorrow. 

“Come here,” Belle said, grabbing his hand to pull him to her again when she was sure he was _finally_ out of the rest of his clothes.

Reuel put a knee on the bed and moved over top of her as she leaned back, leaning on a forearm to get close enough to kiss her. She was pleasantly surprised when he was the one to deepen it. Bringing her knees up on either side of him, she hoped to encourage him to go on.

He slipped a hand between them to touch her. Belle nipped at his lower lip. “I appreciate the sentiment,” she told him, barely hanging on between the length of time it took her to get him out of his clothes and the way his fingers moved. “But I promise you, _I’m ready.”_

Another brief kiss, and he guided himself into her. She gave a shaky gasp. It had been a very long time between partners for her. Still, it had never been like this. Never as comforting and soul-satisfying as this.

“Are you all right?” he asked when his stomach fitted snug up against hers.

Her laugh came out in pieces. “Oh, God, yes.”

She brought her knees in closer to his sides, tilting her hips up to meet him when he moved. He felt amazing in every way, and even in the middle of this, she looked forward to more of him. There was a different craving that tingled its way up her spine. Belle felt like she needed to _do_ more. She wanted to move, wanted to do the taking.

“Reuel, here, wait,” she huffed on short breaths, and he went still. “I’m not going anywhere, but I need you to let me up.”

He rolled off her without question, his expression somewhere between worried and curious as she sat up. She pulled her pillows into one stack against the headboard.

“I want on top. Is that okay?” she said.

Reuel blinked as though he were trying to clear his head. “Anything you want is okay.”

She leaned to kiss him, then kissed him again, and waved at the pillows. “Sit there.”

When he’d moved over, she got up on her knees and straddled his lap. Reaching down, she touched him herself this time to take him inside her again. And _oh, yes,_ that was better. Right now, that was even better.

He ran his hands down her back, leaving broad trails of warmth behind them, and when he settled them on her hips, he just added to the heat pooling in her belly and thighs and the small of her back. One of his hands stayed, tightening on her as she slowly rocked into him, and the other moved up to her left breast. He cupped his hand against her ribs, his thumb tracing the small curve of her breast, then higher to stroke over her nipple. 

Belle concentrated on him inside her, moving in her, on reveling in the way he touched her and nothing else. He bowed his head to kiss her skin, grazing his open mouth over her breast before closing his lips around her areola. It sent her reeling up to the edge. She curled her fingers in his hair, rocking her hips more desperately against him. Reuel pulled harder at her with his mouth and she was gone.

Warmth poured through her like light that she could feel all the way to her fingertips and toes. She could almost taste the brightness of it on her tongue.

Reuel broke away from her breast and wrapped his arms tightly around her, squeezing her to him so hard it pushed the breath from her. And with a sharp, groaning sob, he followed her.

She clung to him, dreading having to let go.


	13. Chapter 13

The quarter-page photo accompanying Sidney Glass’ story on Reuel was far from flattering. He looked angry, confrontational, as though _he’d_ been the aggressor in the situation. The story itself was no better.

**Storybrooke’s Healer: Hero or Villain?**

It did nothing at all to help the keen pain he’d wakened with already at home in his temple and eye this morning. That, at least, dissipated as the day went on. What _had_ helped to some degree was waking with Belle cuddled close, her arms wrapped around him as if she thought he might get away. His morning had begun a bit late because of his reluctance to leave her bed.

He had Jefferson on the dais, fitting and marking his suit. Jefferson held a copy of the paper blatantly stolen from the machine outside, sniping as he read it while Reuel marked the break of his trousers.

“‘Mr. Gold refuses to answer even the simplest of questions regarding his purported abilities, leading this reporter to wonder about the veracity of the claims,’” Jefferson read aloud, his tone filled with mocking. “‘The so-called ‘miraculous’ healing of a child earlier this month may have any number of explanations, the least believable of which should be a miracle worker so recently blown into our previously wholesome hamlet.’ Well, hell, Reuel. He really sunk his teeth into that thesaurus, didn’t he?”

Reuel made a last couple of dashes on the pinstripe wool-mohair with his chalk triangle and stood. “I know where he can stick that thesaurus.”

“It’s anything for a story with him. Storybrooke is a slow place,” Jefferson said, rolling the newspaper tight before tossing it over into an armchair to flap itself open. “The paper would be one page front and back if Glass didn’t make most of it up out of whole cloth.” He looked down at Reuel with a grin. “See what I did there?”

Without turning his head, Reuel rolled his eyes up to his friend. “I’m not amusable today.”

“That’s okay. I like a challenge.” Jefferson brushed his hands down the front of his jacket in progress. “I’m having second thoughts about this peak lapel. It’s overwhelming the front a little bit, as narrow as I’ve got. Can you cut it down? Is that possible?”

Reuel looked around Jefferson, at his reflection in the mirrors. “I can turn it into a standard notch. We’ll see how that looks.”

Yelling drifted in from outside, distant at first and growing closer. As it neared the shop, Reuel recognized Belle’s voice. He handed his chalk to Jefferson and hurried to the front. 

The door rebounded into him when he opened it, and he saw only the back of the person who’d bumped it as they scarpered away. Belle took a couple of steps toward them before deciding she couldn’t catch up. She walked back to Reuel with a troubled look on her face. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the front of his shop.

The town was fully decorated, every storefront with garlands and lights and window displays. The tree in the square had been beautifully trimmed. And Reuel’s shop had ‘liar’ and ‘fraud’ emblazoned across one window, the word ‘charlatan’ broken in half to fit on the other window in matching, cheery red spray paint.

“Someone’s got a good vocabulary,” Belle snipped. “Too bad they don’t have decent sense to go with it.”

Reuel was stunned silent. He stared at the words, trying to make sense of it. His aunties’ shop had been defaced. Because of him.

“I didn’t see who it was. I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head, both responding and shaking himself aware. “No, it isn’t your fault.”

Jefferson peered through the door window before stepping outside. “What the hell?” he grit out, gawking at the vandalism along with them. “Bullshit. Can’t remember the last time somebody got graffitied around here.”

“When Dorothy came out,” Belle reminded him with a frown. “Some jerk spray painted down both sides of her car.”

“Acetone will take it off the glass,” Jefferson said, coughing as he moved closer to the windows. “But it’ll ruin the decals, too.”

Reuel wondered if whoever had done it would just come back again. “I don’t think there’s any avoiding that. I’ll have to repaint the wood.”

Belle reached for his hand. “I’ll help. It’s okay. And I have a big bottle of acetone at home.”

“Priss is headed over from the craft store, and we’re going to head home,” Jefferson told him, putting a hand on his shoulder to give it a squeeze. “Getting tired. I’ll come back on another good day.”

“I’ll be in to get you out of all that.” Reuel nodded to the marked suit.

Jefferson went slowly back inside. Before Reuel could break from his own disappointment to follow, a woman started to pass between where he and Belle stood and the shop. Reuel recognized her cape and dress from the Saint Meissa nuns who lived on the edge of town. They weren’t known as the most tolerant of people, and he traded a look with Belle when the woman stopped to look at the vandalism.

Her pinched mouth twisted into a smirk. “What do you expect with such blasphemy?” the woman spat at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Reuel stared, agape at her as she walked off, her nose stuck in the air.

It was Belle who called after her, “I have a feeling none of the Holy Family appreciates religious snobs, sister!”

The nun looked back, offended, but continued on.

Belle tugged Reuel’s hand toward her. “It’s almost my lunch hour. If you want to close up, I understand. But I was wondering, do you have time to fit my dress today?”

“I have all the time in the world for you,” he told her, bringing her hand up in his to brush a kiss over the back of her fingers.

Belle’s heart ached a little at that. She went in with him, wishing they could just get rid of the spray paint before anyone else had a chance to talk about it. The awful sight outside fled her mind as soon as she got into the shop. Every potted plant inside was thriving. There were so many blooms, such brilliant greenery, and it smelled glorious.

This was a part of it. She was certain, this was a part of his gift. Belle stood in awe.

A hand touched the back of her arm and she looked over. Jefferson glanced around at the houseplants, too, and he gave her a grin. “Bye, Belle.”

“See you Friday,” she replied, lingering for another moment before going to find Reuel.

He held the mockup of her dress, waiting for her. Belle stepped up on the dais before she began undressing. “Shoes on or off?”

“Whichever you like,” he said, and she could tell he did his best not to outright watch as she shimmied her skirt down. “The length doesn’t depend on height in this style.”

Smiling, she tossed the piece of clothing to him, making him catch it and look at her. “You can watch, you know. Pretty sure you’ve seen everything I’ve got.”

The smile he gave her in return was almost shy. “A bit different, here in the shop.”

She undressed down to her underwear, and he helped her into the mockup. Gently, Reuel adjusted and pinned the muslin around her. When he’d finished, Belle spun a couple of times in front of the mirrors, making the skirt flare out.

“The real thing will move differently,” he told her while he removed the dozen or so pins he’d kept conveniently stuck into his own lapel, putting them away in their box.

She stopped, making the muslin swish around her legs. “I know. But it still twirls.”

Reuel smiled, watching her with the fondest expression. “Come to dinner tonight?” he asked. “Or we can go out, if you want?”

It took her a beat too long to speak up. “I can’t.” 

She hated that she couldn’t all the more when his face fell. He tried to hide it, paying entirely too much attention to his box of pins as he clicked the lid back on. Belle lifted her fingers beneath his chin to get him to look up at her again.

“I _want_ to. You don’t know how badly I want to, but I can’t today. I have an appointment after lunch that’s going to go late,” Belle explained. “I just wanted to get your hands on me for a little while before I have to go.”

A look of surprised understanding crossed his face. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she bent down to kiss him. 

Pulling back, she brushed her nose against his. “Reuel?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you go lock the door?”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

Belle sat in a deceptively comfortable chair across from the empty desk, waiting for Dr. DunBroch to come in. She’d been sent for another MRI before her procedure, to check whether there had been changes. That made sense. By this point, Dr. DunBroch knew her medical history inside out, and if she was concerned about changes, it was warranted. Whatever the radiologist had seen, though, he had an odd look on his face when he sent Belle back to the doctor’s office instead of down to pre-op.

It was cruel to keep someone waiting like this. The combined boredom and terror of it made Belle’s insides churn. She grabbed the shiny metal tangle fidget off of the doctor’s desk and took her anxiety out on it viciously. 

She should have told Reuel. That nagged at her. They were more or less properly together now. She should’ve told him. But if she’d told him, he would have insisted on being here with her. He was that kind of person. And she didn’t think she could have stood that, having him waiting and knowing and being there when she woke up afterward.

She’d been to Portland two weeks ago for a whole series of scans, and again last week for a biopsy. Waiting never had been something she was good at. Unfortunately, waiting ridiculous lengths of time for literally everything came along with hospitals. Belle fought with the tangle toy until she thought she might break it. She had just put it back on the desk when the doctor came in.

Dr. DunBroch’s face had the same odd look to it that the radiologist’s did. Saying nothing, she sat down in her desk chair, clicking at her computer for a few moments. Belle’s stomach began to hurt. 

“Belle…” The doctor brought up quite obviously new MRI scans on the enormous display on the desk and turned it around. “We need to talk.”


	14. Chapter 14

Reuel herded Bae into his room, freshly bathed and teeth-brushed, and tucked him into bed. After some squirming and pillow patting and generally making himself comfortable, Bae chose one from the stack of library books on his nightstand for his papa to read to him.

 _“Pick a Pine Tree,”_ Reuel said as he opened the cover. He sat down on the side of the twin bed, clearing his throat. The story wasn’t a long one, and it didn’t send his son right to sleep the way some others did.

Bae was out of school until after the New Year, now. His days for the next couple of weeks would mostly be spent entertaining and being entertained by his aunties. He’d likely come into the shop a bit, but Reuel had a half dozen orders to finish before Christmas Eve, and he didn’t want to have to work late on them. 

“Papa, are you okay?” Bae asked when the story was finished.

“I’m just fine,” Reuel told him, and it wasn’t a lie. Right now, everything felt more or less normal. “Why?”

Bae chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds before pulling the blanket up over his head. “Nothing,” he said from underneath.

His father folded the blanket back down. “What’s the matter?”

“August was saying today he heard you can’t really fix people,” Bae told him, looking as though he didn’t want to tell. “He said he heard you were lying for attention.”

Reuel brushed Bae’s hair back from his forehead. “What do you think?”

His son smiled sleepily. “I think you have magic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s time to go to sleep,” Reuel said, running a fingertip down Bae’s nose from bridge to tip, and gave it a boop.

Bae wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sleepy,” he claimed even as he had to force his eyes to stay open.

“Oh, well, then. If you can’t sleep, why don’t you think whether you haven’t left anything off your letter to Santa, hm?” He grinned over at his son. “Not much longer ’til Christmas. Better’d make sure.”

“Left off?” Bae echoed softly, and just after, he was out.

“I love you and I’m proud of you,” Reuel told his son, though the little boy was sound asleep. He said the words every night without fail. “Night-night.”

Getting up, he put the book at the bottom of the stack and turned off the little bedside lamp, leaving only the glow of his son’s snail nightlight. He left the door cracked on his way out.

Reuel tried not to hold any resentment toward a child he didn’t know, and who was likely only repeating remarks he’d heard adults make. He wasn’t sure who to blame for the entire mess. Glass, for writing a purposefully inflammatory article? Mrs. Nolan, for spreading around what he’d hoped she would keep quiet? Himself, for opening his own damn fool mouth and telling her the truth? 

He went quietly back downstairs to clean up after Bae’s efforts toward homemade tree ornaments. For a few more minutes, he just wanted to pretend that everything _was_ all right, that his life was still something bordering on normal. He wanted to be a father, and whatever he was to Belle, and nothing else.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

For twenty-some-odd years, his aunties’ shop had packed up their creations in dark, blue-gray boxes with pale gold paper folded around the garments, matching the shingle out front. There was no reason to change the tradition. Reuel arranged Jefferson’s suit in a crisp layer of tissue, placing a printed set of care instructions on top before closing the lid.

It was midmorning when Jefferson came in. He went straight to the counter, leaning on it while he rifled through his wallet until he slid out a credit card. “You don’t know how much this means, Reuel. Thanks.”

“I wish you’d let me give you the family discount,” Reuel told him, bouncing the card between his fingers.

“Pfft,” Jefferson sputtered, dismissing the idea. “Might be different if we weren’t swimming in money, but I’d much rather put some of it in your pocket.”

Reuel ran the card through and gave it back. Watching as Jefferson wiggled it into the slot it came from, he realized he could help his friend. He could heal Jefferson’s heart condition. Or he assumed that he could. If he could fix something as catastrophic as what Emma Nolan had suffered, surely he could heal a heart?

Reaching across the counter, Reuel lay his hand on Jefferson’s shoulder. His friend gave him a startled look and pulled back.

“Yeah… None of that.” Jefferson gave him a scolding side-eye and went to sit in an armchair across the room, draping himself in it with a grace he managed to hold onto no matter how terrible he looked.

Reuel followed, bewildered and a tad hurt, and sat in the chair cornerwise from him. He could _fix_ this. “Why?”

“Can’t help but hear what people are saying,” Jefferson said. “I know most of it’s bunk, but I know what I heard when Mary Margaret was in here, too.”

“So you do believe-”

“Oh, yeah. I believe.”

“And you won’t let me try?” Reuel asked.

Running a finger along the piping that edged the chair arm, Jefferson tilted his head back in thought. Reuel could see so much there of the boy he knew when they were kids. It was painful, knowing what was coming for him.

“Things like this, they cost,” Jefferson pointed out after a while. “The way it looks, it’s not the people you’re healing that the price is being exacted from. Which leaves me wondering what it’s doing to you.”

Reuel shook his head. “What does it matter?”

“It matters.” Jefferson stared him down. “I know my advice isn’t worth all that much, but Reuel… If you want a life, stop. Pretend this whole thing was a hoax.”

His friend’s response floored him. It took him a moment to respond. “I can’t do that.”

“You think you can help. I get it. You wanted to help Emma. I couldn’t have walked away from her either.” Jefferson looked at him with eyes that glittered with exhaustion. The cockiness he held onto even a few days ago was fading. He seemed too tired for it. “You want to help me. You’ll want to help a whole hospital full of people. Tour the world, touch everybody, suck the pain and disease right out of the planet. And what’s it gonna do to _you?”_

A good few minutes passed in silence while Reuel considered Jefferson’s advice. He thought of how badly it hurt when he did what he did, how the pain grew more intense. If he stopped just because it hurt _him,_ though, wouldn’t that be selfish? He had given himself to a great many selfish actions in his life, but there was a limit even for him.

“Small price to pay,” he answered at last.

“Nah. No. You can’t sacrifice yourself.” Jefferson shook his head, bowing it for a second, then looked down through the shop. “There’s always going to be pain and sickness and death. Whatever this is you have, you can’t stop that.”

“Something like this, there’s an obligation that comes with it,” Reuel reasoned.

“There’s people who’d tell you that. People it wouldn’t bother in the least to see you wither away and eaten up by it.” He looked Reuel square in the face again.. “I’ve had some lengthy experience with the whole withering away thing. It’s easy to not see it in yourself, you know? It sneaks up on you a little at a time. Did you realize you’ve lost weight since you started this? There wasn’t that much of you to begin with. Your color is off, too.”

Reuel was taken aback. He hadn’t. Had he?

“Give it up,” Jefferson told him. “Tell people it was a hoax. It might cause problems for a while, but they’ll forget about it. They’ll assume it was some of Sidney’s histrionics. And in the long run, you’ll be alive for your family.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

He closed the shop up for an early lunch and went across the street to the library. If he had to find somewhere to park himself and wait for Belle to have time for him, he would. But he needed to see her.

Belle smiled brightly at him from behind the checkout desk, and merely that much went a little way toward soothing his soul. The door barely closed behind him before a man who looked around his aunties’ age approached.

“You’re Reuel Gold, aren’t you?” the man asked quietly. “You’re the one Glass wrote the article in the paper about? You heal people?”

Reuel looked across to Belle. She was in the middle of scanning out a stack of books for someone, but she kept her eyes on him.

“I am,” he said.

The man took off his heavy plaid coat and pulled up his sweater sleeve to reveal a large, painful looking burn across his forearm. It appeared as though hot oil might have splashed him. “Can you heal this?” he asked.

Getting past an instant of hesitation, Reuel took the man by the wrist and covered the burn with his other hand. The man hissed in pain, then gasped. When Reuel took his hands away, the burn was nothing more than a pink flush of new skin.

“Thank you!” the man said, grabbing Reuel’s hand back to shake it. “Thank you so much!”

Reuel nodded, flexing his neck as the man left the library. Pain edged in through his temple. Belle was giving him a look of concern.

He knew the woman who walked up to him next. Half the town had called Beverley Lucas ‘Granny’ since _he_ was a boy. She eyed him with no small amount of skepticism, tucking a spicy romance novel into her bag.

“Do you think you could do anything about arthritis?” she asked, precisely as cantankerous as he remembered her.

“I haven’t tried,” he told her. “I don’t see why not.”

Mrs. Lucas’ expression softened, if the tiniest bit, before she offered her hand. “How about we try?”

Despite the strange feeling that settled on him, doing this in the middle of the library, and doing it within full view of gathering people, he took her hand.

“Tickles,” Mrs. Lucas muttered. After a moment, she opened and closed the hand he wasn’t holding. “Well, my stars.”

Pain pushed in behind his eye, growing sharper. “It worked?”

“Like a charm!” Taking her hand out of his, she stepped a few feet away and walked back more quickly. “Not a twinge. I tell you, I had my doubts, but I haven’t hurt this little in years. Thank you.”

Reuel nodded and blinked hard against the spin the motion sent through his head. The people who had been gathering began to move closer, grouping around him. A woman with dark hair and round cheeks came up to him, giving an awkward glance around her before speaking quietly to him.

“I have a job interview in the morning,” she said, tucking back a section of hair she’d kept carefully combed to hide one side of her face. An awful black eye, one of the worst he’d seen, glared from behind it. The full orbit was dark reddish-purple and swollen, blood in the white of her eye. “Would you be able to fix this?”

It was difficult not to flinch. He _knew._ “What’s your name?”

She appeared to think about answering for a moment before she did. “Gwen.”

Reuel lifted a hand, resting his fingertips alone the soft ridge of her brow. When he took it away, a new wave of pain jabbed through his own eye, but hers was clear and unbruised. Her jaw dropped a little and she reached to touch her face.

“If you need help-” he began.

She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m being helped. But thank you.”

“What about my blood pressure?” a man asked, edging in front of Gwen. “Can you fix high blood pressure?”

Belle had enough. She left Dove behind the front desk and pushed through the still gathering crowd. Apparently someone had gone out and said something, because more were coming into the library.

“Reuel,” she said, curling a hand around his upper arm. He was in the process of fixing Old Man Mickey’s carpal tunnel. “Reuel, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

“Help my kid’s arm?” Hank Morgan pulled his daughter, Violet, close to show Reuel her cast.

Reuel rested a hand on her shoulder, closing his eyes. When he took his hand away, it went to his head, a knuckle pressing hard against his temple.

Jaqueline Kellogg sidled up and Belle heard her ask, “Can you fix a UTI?”

Her last straw snapped when Phillip Prinsen pushed to the front, grabbing Reuel’s coat lapels, and asked him to come with him to fix his wife. She pried his hands off Reuel and placed herself between them.

“Can’t you see you’re hurting him?” she accused the crowd as a whole, her anger slipping through. “Or don’t you care?"

Phillip reached toward Reuel again and he staggered a step back, bumping into Abigail King, who had come up to stand in the group behind him. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, looking as if he were barely keeping upright.

Belle turned him bodily to face the door. “Go. You need to go.”

Much to her relief, he walked out of the library. She followed him right behind. A few people left after her, also following, and she was sorely tempted to turn around and burn their ears. It was more important to check on Reuel. 

He made it across the road into his shop and she went in after him, locking the door and pulling the blind down over the window. The people who followed her left pretty quickly. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if they hung around, but it seemed there was _some_ decency to them. For now.

Belle went farther into the dress shop. If he was looking for something to help his headache, he’d have gone into the back.

She found him lying on the floor next to the dais. In the few seconds he was out of her sight, he’d gone down. The morning he fell from the ladder flashed through her thoughts.

“Reuel?” she called, kneeling next to him. 

Touching his cheek, Belle worried that it wasn’t the lights in the shop that made him look ashen. She shook him by the shoulder. The relief that washed over her when he opened his eyes would have weakened her knees if she weren’t already on the floor. He examined her face as though he was committing her to memory.

“Reuel,” she said again. “That was… incredibly stupid.”

He lifted a hand, covering his left eye with it. The rest of his face pulled in pain. “I know,” he whispered, blinking slowly.

“Can you sit up?”

“I’m not that bad off.”

Reuel moved his hand so that he could push himself upright. She helped him turn to lean against the side of the dais. When she was sure he was steady there, she put her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

“I’m all right,” he claimed, wrapping his arms around her.

When she sat back, though, he remained quiet and still, even moving his eyes carefully. She could tell he was hurting badly.

“You’re not,” Belle said. “I know you’re not. You need to see Dr. Whale.”

“I have something for pain. It helps. I’ll be fine.” He hemmed and hawed until he saw the steely look she was giving him. “I’ll call Victor’s office in the morning.”

She set her mouth, not satisfied with that much time going by. “No. Now. I want you to go _now.”_


	15. Chapter 15

“Well, your vitals are all over the place,” Victor told him with the most slappable, nonchalant expression he’d ever seen.

Reuel looped his scarf back over his head, ready to get out as soon as he could. “I’d apologize, but I can’t precisely control that.” 

“That’s not entirely true, though, is it?” the doctor said, and _now_ he had that insufferable smirk on his face. “Whatever it is that lets you do what you’re doing, you’re paying a price for it physically, and not a small one.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy.” Reuel gave him a wary look. 

Pinning the chart to his chest behind crossed arms, Victor shrugged. “I don’t know what it is that’s happening. I just know there are people who have come in after whatever it is you do, and they’re in better health than I’ve ever seen a person. And I know it’s harming you. _And_ if you don’t stop… Well. There are beds open.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop my headaches?” Reuel asked.

Victor gave him a level look. “Stop doing this?”

Reuel frowned and stepped down from the exam table. “Thanks. Thank you so much. That’s helpful.”

He left the room without another word, intent on a grouchy stalk out of the hospital. From behind him, he heard someone call, “Mr. Gold?” and he turned back.

Ruby, Victor’s nurse who sat at the inside desk, hurried up the hallway to him. “Mr. Gold, here,” she said, handing him a sticky note with penguins wrapped in Christmas lights on it.

The bit of paper also held a name and address. “Who is this?”

“She was a teacher here when I was a kid,” Ruby explained, pressing very red lips together for a moment. “She was… kind of like you. Toward the beginning of winter one year, she drowned in the lake. The ice turned out not to be thick enough when it was opened for skaters, and she went in. Mr. Marco got her out and they took her to the hospital, and they got her back. They decided the water must have been cold enough that there weren’t any lasting effects, but when she got out of the hospital, she could do the same thing you’re doing.”

He stared at the paper for what felt like a very long time before he looked up at Ruby again. “Why are you giving me her address?”

The smile on her face was far too pitying to be comfortable for him. “I thought she might be able to help you see things in perspective.”

Reuel folded the sticky note and put it in his wallet before going out to the waiting room where Belle stayed for him. He was ready for her first question.

“What did he have to say?” she asked.

“I’m all right,” he lied.

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe that in the least. “What did he _say?”_

“It looks like ‘whatever it is I do’ weakens me,” he said, giving her a little more truth and hoping it would be enough. “Something like that. It’s not serious.”

“Reuel.” She shook her head. “That still means you need to stop.”

“No, it- it just means I need to slow it down.” He smiled over at her. 

Belle waited until she had him back in her car before she went on. “Is this what you plan to do for the rest of your life? Heal people until it kills _you?”_

“That isn’t going to happen,” he said.

“Are you going to live with people mobbing you, demanding to be healed the way they were doing at the library?” she asked, turning onto the street away from the hospital. “It’s making you sick.”

“I’m fine,” Reuel lied again. “The headaches pass.”

“You told me you left your previous job because you burned out. Can’t you see this is burning through you a lot more literally?”

“Could you just stop if there were people begging for your help?”

She looked at him with her mouth open for a second before snapping it closed again. “Probably not. I don’t know. But this isn’t me we’re talking about. It’s you. And they don’t care about what it’s doing to you. They don't see it because all they want is for you to fix them.”

Reuel had no rebuttal for her. She shook her head helplessly and he looked out the window on his side.

“Please, be careful,” Belle told him when she pulled into his aunties’ driveway. She reached over, curling her hand into his. “I’m sorry I fussed. I’m worried.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back and holding it there for a moment. “Do you have to get back to the library? Can you come in?”

She met his gaze with a mixture of concern and fear coloring her features. “Dove can take care of things for the rest of the day.”

Bae ran into the entryway from the living room before the front door had closed. He threw his arms around his papa’s hips. “You’re home early!”

“It’s been a long day already, and I missed you,” he told his son easily. Bending, making his head spin yet again, Reuel rested his hands on either side of Bae’s head to drop a kiss in the boy’s hair.

“Color with me?” Bae asked, stepping back to tug at his father’s overcoat. “You can pick a new picture.”

That was an offer that Reuel couldn’t turn down. Not today. “Can I use the glitter crayons?”

“You can use _all_ the crayons.”

“Well, I do like the sound of that deal.”

Bae looked to Belle, taking a handful of her coat, too. “Come help us color?”

“I’m going to talk to Wiola and Zinnia,” she said, giving Bae the warmest of smiles. “Then I’ll come back and help.”

Reuel gave her a look that asked her not to tell them what had happened in the library, and she returned one that said she was absolutely going to.

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

He drove with the sticky note Ruby gave him stuck to his dash, searching down back roads until he found a mail box with the house number on it. Reuel had never been out this way before. He supposed early morning was a good time for it. The farm he found far on the edge of town was only technically still in Storybrooke.

When he pulled up in front of the farmhouse, there was a woman outside who looked roundabout his age. She had warm brown skin, and dark blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves out from under a purple knit hat. Standing near a side door, she loaded a firewood basket from the stack there. 

“Are you lost?” she asked, stopping to regard him with no small amount of suspicion as he got out of the car.

He pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “I’m looking for Urse Olagarro.”

An oddly long hesitation hung in the air before the woman said, “She lived here a long time ago. Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, then,” he apologized without turning away just yet.

She nodded once, curtly. “That’s all right.”

Reuel saw flowers around the front of the farmhouse. In the middle of winter. All were green and blooming.

“Do you mind if I ask your secret?” He looked more obviously to the flowers. “My aunties, they have plants everywhere. I wonder how you keep yours so healthy this time of year.”

The woman went back to piling firewood in her basket. “It’s easy. Plants want to thrive. All you have to do is give them what they want.”

Stepping a bit closer, Reuel looked at an enormous cluster of violets at the corner of the house. They were perfect, not a flaw, vibrant colors even in the bitter cold.

“My aunties’ houseplants all burst into bloom when I touched them. When this started.” He stood up straight, waiting.

She sent a slow look his way. “Who are you? Who sent you here?”

“Reuel Gold. Ruby Lucas sent me.” He held out the sticky note. “She gave me your address.”

“Ruby…” The woman smiled. “How is she?”

“She’s just fine, I suppose. She looks all right.”

“Good. Good.” Nodding somewhat more amiably, she set down the basket and took off her gloves. “Give me your hands.”

Following suit, Reuel removed his gloves, tucking them down into his overcoat pocket. He held his hands out to her. She took them in hers, looked at them, and closed her eyes.

She hummed, and it wasn’t a happy sound. “You have it,” she muttered, letting go. “It’s gotten you, too.”

Reuel’s brow creased. “Gotten?”

“Ruby didn’t tell you how she knows Urse,” the woman said.

He shook his head, pulling his gloves back on. It was too cold to stand around without them.

“Her mother - Ruby’s mother. Not the most maternal creature.” She picked up her basket again. “Threw boiling water in her daughter’s face for wetting the bed.”

Reuel remembered that. Vaguely. He remembered it being in the paper, Anita Lucas going to the women’s prison in Windham for aggravated child abuse and attempted murder.

She frowned at the memory. “Dr. Moreau, he was the GP back then. He had the sheriff bring Urse down to the hospital to help. Ruby probably wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

“This Urse, she did good things, then,” Reuel said, hoping to hear more that might help him understand.

“I knew her. I knew her very well,” the woman told him. “When it first got her, she was happy. She felt loved, wanted. People sought her out. Then they started demanding things of her, and she gave. They used her up and she let them, because when someone came to her in need of healing, she felt important. Felt _blessed_ that she could help them. Until it killed her.”

Her recounting of it all stunned him silent.

“I think Urse would tell you to figure out why you want to keep doing this. And then she would tell you to stop.”

“What if I want to keep helping people despite the price?”

“Then my condolences to your family.” She turned away and began filling the basket again.

Reuel couldn’t let go of a suspicion of his own. “Urse.”

The woman paused. She didn’t look back at him. “Urse is dead. If you want proof, her grave is under the elm by the road there,” she said, gesturing with a piece of wood.

Realizing that she wouldn’t be talking to him any further, he walked down to the tree. At the base sat a large, bronze marker. The spot was well kept. On the marker, there was no date of birth or death, only the name. Ursula Mina Olagarro.

He wasn’t convinced. There was something too insistently dismissive about her. But the woman who lived in the farmhouse clearly wanted to be left alone. So, Reuel left.


	16. Chapter 16

After putting the farmhouse at the edge of town behind him, Reuel spent the rest of the day at the shop, finishing orders and calling customers in to fetch them. It was Christmas Eve Eve, and he didn’t want to spend the next day working instead of being with his family. Belle’s dress was the only one unclaimed. When he called her, she’d asked him to take it home with him.

Everyone else was in bed. Reuel sat by himself in the living room, a book open in his lap, unable to make it through a page. He couldn’t go to bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep. There was too much spinning through his thoughts to settle down and go up.

A quiet knock came at the front door. He closed his book, setting it aside on the cushion next to him. For someone to be there at this time of night, there had to be something wrong.

Reuel opened the door to find the man who had grabbed him at the library. A small, thin woman with auburn hair stood next to the man, wrapped up in a heavy lavender coat. 

“This is my wife, Aurora. Everybody calls her Rory,” he said, clearly trying to get Reuel to sympathize. “She developed Kleine-Levin syndrome after an accident a few years ago.”

Reuel _did_ feel for the woman. She looked beyond exhausted, and not as if she should be out in the well below freezing night air.

He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“No,” Aurora said to her husband, not moving. “Belle says it hurts him. This is wrong, Phillip.”

Still on the doorstep, Phillip grabbed her hand and held it out to Reuel, demanding, “Fix her.”

Far more gently, Reuel held her hand in his. He closed his eyes and tried to think it into happening.

Her hand remained stiff, reluctant. Quietly, she told him, “Please. Stop.”

Reuel let go of her. It hadn’t worked. He tried not to show his confusion. Why did it not work? Because she didn’t want it to? Had whatever it was that let him heal run out?

“Did it work?” Phillip asked his wife, then looked at Reuel. “Did you do it?”

“Let’s just go home,” Aurora said. She tried to get her husband to turn away from the door.

Phillip looked from his wife to Reuel again. “It didn’t work. You’re a liar,” he accused. “A fraud. I don’t know how you’re making people believe this, but I’m going to make sure everybody knows it.”

The man half dragged his wife back down the front steps and out to their car, slinging gravel as he tore out of the driveway. Reuel stood in the open door until a shiver prompted him to close it. He went back to the living room, standing for a moment in the middle before going to the bookshelf. From behind the bound atlases on the top shelf, he brought out the bottle of Auntie Zinnia’s ‘medicinal’ Scotch and took a glass from the stack kept beside it, pouring himself two good fingers.

Reuel sat down on the sofa again, turning off the table lamp next to him. He pressed his thumb hard against his temple, rubbing at the sharp pain there threatening to take up permanent residence. A streak of white shot across his vision in his left eye.

Another knock at the door. Surely the Prinsens wouldn’t come back. He gave the small glass in his hand a longing look, but set it down.

He could see Belle’s blue coat through the window as he got into the entryway. Some small piece of the anxiety that coiled in him let go.

She smiled when he opened the door. “Hey. Can I come in?”

“You’re always welcome.” He returned her smile, stepping out of the way. “Are you hungry?”

“I had dinner. I wouldn’t say no to a cup of cocoa, though,” she said, and she took her coat off, hanging it on the rack by the stairs.

He glanced outside before closing and locking the door. “I think I can manage that.”

Belle followed him through to the kitchen, setting her purse on the table before she sat down in the spot she’d been taking when she was over for dinner. He fixed their hot cocoa rather quietly. The kitchen lights made the pain in his head worse.

When he brought their cups to the table, she circled hers carefully between her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Reuel countered.

“You’re…” She made a wavy, wiggle-fingered gesture at him. “You don’t have your usual _feeling_ around you.”

He looked down into his cup, still too hot to drink from. “Phillip Prinsen brought his wife here earlier tonight.”

“Oh, no,” Belle whispered, her expression pulling in dismay. 

“I tried to help. It didn’t work. He was angry,” Reuel explained briefly. “Suppose it’s a good thing, though. For some reason, she didn’t want it.”

“Rory… she’s been in a bad place for a long time.” Belle pushed the marshmallows in her cocoa down into the chocolate with her spoon. “We went to school together, all of us. Rory, Phillip, and Mulan.”

It was yet another unfamiliar name, but in this situation, it made him curious. “Mulan?”

She took a ginger sip from her cup. “Rory and Phillip were always going to get together. It just kind of seemed inevitable. In high school, Mulan Hua’s family moved here. All three of them connected right away. There was a lot of talk about them, and some of it was pretty accurate. Rory and Mulan were head over heels for each other, but Rory still loved Phillip, and he adored Mulan, but not in a relationship kind of way, so they worked it out together.”

“That sounds complicated for kids that age,” Reuel observed.

Belle nodded. “It does. But they managed it. They all went to college together, all moved into a house back here together after college. Rory and Phillip got married, and Mulan was a big part of the ceremony. Then, five-ish years ago, Rory and Mulan were in a car accident just this side of Portland. Mulan didn’t make it. And Rory lost a pregnancy at the same time.” She sighed, looking far away for a moment. “Rory had a pretty severe head injury that’s caused some lingering problems. I don’t know if it’s part of that, or downright grief, but she’s kind of lost the light she had before the accident. It doesn’t help that Phillip feels guilty. Apparently, he was supposed to be doing the errand they were out of town on.”

There was no wonder Phillip was so aggressive. Reuel thought he could understand, at least a bit, why Aurora resisted help, as well. He might have done the same in her shoes.

Pushing her unfinished cup toward the middle of the table, Belle took a breath as though she were preparing herself. “I came over because I need to tell you something.”

“I hope that isn’t as ominous as it sounds?” he said, smiling tentatively over at her and hoping to get a smile in return.

The smile she attempted was wobbly. She unzipped the top of her purse, taking out her phone, and tapped at the screen a few times before turning it to show him.

“This was my mammogram five weeks ago,” Belle explained, her voice going soft and careful. “I’ve had one once a year since I turned thirty because I have a family history.”

His chest felt so tight for a few seconds that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull in a breath. Fear shot through him. “Mammogram?” he asked weakly.

She pointed to a bright spot on the image. “There’s a lump there. A tumor. Malignant. Sometime in the year between scans, despite precautions, it developed and got to stage 2.”

Reuel forced his eyes away from the phone to look at her face. She was looking right at him, and other than the line between her brows, her expression was unreadable.

“I was scheduled for a lumpectomy to start, with permission for a mastectomy if they found it was necessary.” She swallowed hard, turning her phone so that she could see it, sweeping her finger across the screen. “When I went in, they did another MRI to check the lump and guide my surgeon.”

His eyes burned and he had to force his breathing into something normal. Each breath out tried to shake. He couldn’t lose her. He’d just found her.

Belle turned her phone around to face him again. The scan there was different - another format, another angle. She pointed to one side of it. There was nothing there. The white shadow that was present on the first image was simply not there.

“It’s gone.” Her lower lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes, falling down her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she set her phone down on the table and touched her left breast at the outside. “There’s no lump. Nothing at all. The doctor ordered entirely new scans. There’s nothing. She wants to keep a close eye, but…”

Reuel’s hand came up to cover his mouth, and he felt tears run down the back of it.

Her mouth opened again for a second before she could say anything else. “I had decided not to ask you. After you told me, I thought about it. But I’d decided not to.”

“I would have,” he said from behind his hand.

Belle leaned across the corner of the table, moving his hand so that she could kiss him. “I know. I know you would’ve,” she said, sitting back. “But it was hurting you, healing other people, and I refused to add to that.”

“I knew there was something. The night in your apartment. I felt something, I-” He shook his head.

She laughed, the sound soft and watery. “I _hope_ you were feeling something.”

His face went warm with her remark. “I didn’t know what it was you needed. I never asked. But I felt when it happened. It wasn’t as bad as I’d imagine for…” Reuel glanced to her phone. The scan blinked away to a black screen when it went to sleep.

“There might’ve been more sensations going on there balancing it,” she told him, a smile breaking across her face.

Reuel grinned. “Might’ve been.”

“Can we go upstairs?” she asked, her smile softening, too. “Do you feel like showing me your bedroom? Would that be all right?”

“You need more?” He met her eyes in concern, as though he might be able to tell there. “You- you need something else healed?”

Belle held her hand to his face, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone. “No. Not me.”

⸟⸞❅❄❅⸞⸟

He didn’t want to get out of bed. Belle was warm curled against him, and there was nowhere he would rather be than holding onto her.

Reuel had something important to do. Or attempt. Doing his best not to disturb her, he moved his arm and held the covers where they were while he got out from under so that the cool air outside of them wouldn’t wake her. She took a deeper breath, but re-settled with her face half in his pillow. After getting dressed as silently as he could manage, he went downstairs.

It wouldn’t take long. Either way, he was certain of that. His old friend would either allow him to help or tell him again what a fool he was. Jefferson and his family deserved a good Christmas, though, and Reuel meant to do his damnedest to make sure they had it. 

No one answered at the Modista house when he rang the doorbell. He was on his way back down the walk when he heard the door open.

“Hello?” said the woman who had finally answered. She stayed just inside, a winter robe held tightly around herself.

“I’m here to see Jefferson.” He took a few steps toward the house again. “Is he here?”

“May I know who’s asking?”

“Reuel Gold.”

“My apologies, Mr. Gold.” The caution left her features. “Mr. Modista has mentioned you. They’re all at the hospital. Mr. Modista had to be taken by ambulance earlier this evening.”

He went to his car, shaken out of a response. The hospital, then, he decided as he backed out of the driveway. There was no way he would risk losing the chance to heal Jefferson.

It started to snow as he hurried from his car to the hospital entrance. Visiting hours were long over, but they’d likely have kept Jefferson in emergency. Reuel headed that way. There weren’t many people on duty - the blessings of a small town. He wasn’t stopped as he peered quickly into empty rooms. His search was unnecessary, he discovered. Jefferson’s family was there, standing with Victor just outside an open door. Victor gave him a discouraging scowl over Priscilla’s shoulder as he approached, and she turned to look, too.

“Do you mind if I step in to see him?” Reuel asked, pointedly directing the question to Jefferson’s wife.

Priss seemed surprised, but she shook her head. “No, go on. I know he’d like to see you.”

“Mrs. Modista,” Victor said quietly, drawing her attention back as Reuel moved past them to go in. “If you want to say goodbyes, it should be soon.”

Reuel went to the near side of the bed, putting a hand on Jefferson’s forearm. His lips had a blue cast to them. After a moment, Jefferson opened his eyes.

Leaning down close, Reuel whispered, “Let me help you.”

Jefferson scoffed, and the sound sent him coughing. He was having trouble breathing, but he managed to get out, “No, you idiot.”

“You have a wife and daughter who are wishing very hard otherwise,” Reuel told him.

An attempt to sit up higher in the bed made Jefferson’s heart monitor go a bit amiss, and he struggled for breath.

Reuel was silent for a minute, not wanting to provoke him. “It’s your decision. But I’m here. I’ll be here either way.”

Jefferson rested his head back on the pillow, calming. “Y’know, there’s rumors going around that Phillip Prinsen tried to get you to heal Rory and it didn’t work out. What happened?” he asked, his words coming out a few at a time.

Glancing to the clock on the wall, Reuel pulled a face. He’d forgotten how fast gossip spread in Storybrooke. “I don’t know.”

Jefferson looked at Reuel, then looked past him to Priss talking to the doctor, his daughter clinging to her mother’s coat. His wife’s face crumpled at whatever the doctor was saying. Reuel recognized the emotion that crossed his friend’s face then. Guilt.

“Fine.” Jefferson relented, looking every inch as though it hurt him to say. “Fine, do whatever it is you do.”

Moving his hand to lay it flat on his friend’s chest, over his heart, Reuel closed his eyes. Jefferson’s hand came up to rest over it. There was a warmth. An odd, looming, expansive feeling inside him. The sounds coming from the heart monitor went chaotic again, then… evened out. 

Reuel had only an instant of relief that Jefferson would be all right before a pain so brilliant and sharp that it stole his breath lanced through his head. He felt as if he were being broken open. 

He heard Jefferson’s wife and daughter come in, then Victor, and heard the family exclaiming over Jefferson. Reuel wanted to get out, to go home, back to Bae and Belle and his aunties, but he couldn’t open his eyes. As he tried to feel his way across the room, he heard more than one voice shouting his name at him.

With an outstretched hand in search of a wall, Reuel reached. He was hit with a sensation as though he stepped off into water so deep there was no footing.


	17. Chapter 17

She woke to someone patting her urgently.

“Put your clothes on, dear,” Wiola said with zero judgment. “We have to get to the hospital.”

Belle sat up, holding the sheet and blanket up to her neck, not sure what was going on. She looked around. Reuel wasn’t there. His aunt’s face told her the rest.

“No…” she breathed, her heart sinking.

“Hurry,” Wiola told her before disappearing, and Belle heard her footsteps on the stairs.

She yanked her hair into a bun so that she didn’t have to waste time untangling it. Rushing downstairs, still pulling the last of her clothes on, she found the door standing open for her. Belle slammed it shut on the way out. Reuel’s aunts and Bae, still in his pajamas with a coat over top, were just getting into their car. She was thankful she’d had the forethought to park on the streetside to avoid blocking anyone in. Driving safely wasn’t something she thought she could manage just now.

Snow had begun accumulating sometime in the night. Small drifts of it were gathered on house eaves and against lamp posts. It would have been a perfect, beautiful Christmas Eve.

They were right back to the observation room Reuel occupied for days after he fell from the ladder in front of the shop. She stopped at the glass, working to pull herself together.

From behind her, she heard someone say her name. “Belle?”

Turning, she found Jefferson in a hospital gown and robe, standing from the nearest waiting chair. Priss and Grace sat there with him. He looked miserable, but healthier than she’d seen him for a couple of years now. Immediately, she knew what had happened. Tears gathered and fell before she could attempt to brush them away.

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson said, as though he had anything to apologize for.

“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “It’s not your fault. He was going to do this no matter what.”

Dr. Whale walked by her without a glance, and she turned on her heel to follow him into the room. The nurse there opened her mouth to protest, but for some reason the words didn’t come.

“Help him,” Belle demanded. “You have to help him. You’re not doing anything.”

“We’ve done everything we can,” Dr. Whale informed her, and he appeared disgruntled about the situation, himself. “He’s in a similar condition as when he was brought in on the third. Unresponsive, low brain activity. There’s nothing to do but wait.”

“He’s helped so many people these last weeks, and you can’t do _anything?”_ she asked.

The doctor looked like he was going to say something. He closed his mouth again and shook his head, leaving the room. After checking in on Reuel, the nurse left, as well.

Belle dragged the same chair over to the bed and sat. She’d stay there until he woke. Or until something else happened.

She didn’t realize just how fast she’d raced from the parking lot to the observation unit until Bae came in. 

“Papa’s hurt again,” he said, something frustrated as well as hurt in his voice.

Giving his back a comforting rub, she agreed. “Yeah. He is.” 

Bae patted her knee, wanting something, and it took her a second to understand. She was lifting the little boy onto her lap when Reuel’s aunts came hurrying in, too. Wiola and Zinnia fussed quietly over their son before turning their attention to her.

“Has the doctor been in since you came up?” Zinnia asked.

Belle nodded, one side of her mouth quirked in annoyance. “He just said they’ve done everything they can.”

Neither of the older women appeared any more satisfied with that than she’d been. Wiola came over, leaning to run a hand over Bae’s hair and press a kiss to his cheek, then did the same to Belle. The gesture made her heart ache a little. Zinnia stepped out to speak with a nurse, and after a few minutes, an orderly brought in a couple of extra chairs. No one seemed too interested in keeping them out of the room this time. Belle had a feeling that couldn’t mean anything good.

She went through washes of emotion, unable to be calm inside. There was anger. That was very clear in her head. But she couldn’t blame him, either. She understood why he’d done what he did. And she was back around to angry that whatever had done this, whatever had given this ‘gift’ to him had inflicted such an unfair price and taken him away from her, away from his family. Belle hated this place, the hospital. Maybe she hated all hospitals now, but particularly this one, where all of the worst days of her life had taken place. 

Later in the morning, Ruby showed up on the observation unit. She hovered between the room door and the waiting area, watching with a look of heavy concern. When Dr. Whale came back around, Belle saw Ruby take him aside. Her curiosity felt absolutely reasonable as she had Bae get down and went to the door, standing with her back nonchalantly to it to listen.

“Let me go get her,” Ruby said. “Maybe she can help.”

Dr. Whale made a snorting sound. “What makes you think she’ll even leave her property? No one’s seen her within the town limits for more than ten years.”

“She knows me. She likes me,” Ruby told him.

“If you think you can get her to come back with you… Fine,” the doctor snapped quietly. “I can’t see why she’d do something that might end her up in the same situation as Reuel, but fine. You can try.”

Eavesdropping left Belle with more questions than it answered. She went back to her chair, wondering as Bae climbed up again who on earth it could be that Ruby was so insistent could help. And ‘the same situation’? Ruby had already gone when she looked again.

Some time later, a nurse tapped at the glass door before letting herself in. She checked everything, a troubled expression on her face.

“Is there any change?” Zinnia asked as the nurse turned to go.

The nurse looked with palpable sympathy at the four of them sitting there looking hopefully back at her. “I’m sorry, honey, no. His vitals are still the same.”

Belle sank back in her chair perhaps too suddenly, because it woke Bae. He looked quickly to his father, then slumped down a bit in similar disappointment.

“I’m hungry,” he whispered over to Wiola. 

“Here, love,” Zinnia said, pulling a coin purse from her coat pocket. She gave the entire thing to him. “Get you something from the machines. Bring me back a peanut butter cup, if they have them. And a cream soda.”

Bae accepted the coin purse with a reverence that belied how rare the privilege was. He made two trips to the vending machines - first for his own and Zinnia’s snacks, then for a few more things as directed by her, because Wiola and Belle declined food but would inevitably be hungry later. She piled everything except Bae’s sour gummies and Coke on the rolling table behind her.

It was near dusk when Belle saw Ruby coming back through the waiting area, this time accompanied by someone. A black woman with honey-colored hair and a heavy fringe walked next to Ruby. They headed straight for Reuel’s room. Before they arrived, Belle patted Wiola’s arm to get her to un-bow her head, and Wiola reached over to pat Zinnia much the same.

“I see them,” Zinnia replied shortly.

The woman went right to Reuel. She shook her head. “You’re a foolish boy,” she said.

Wiola stood when the woman spoke to him, and Zinnia sat up on the edge of her chair, looking as though she was ready to stop this if necessary. Faced with a stranger, Bae placed himself behind their chairs.

Belle made an insistent beckoning gesture to Ruby. “What is this? Who is she?”

Squatting down in front of Belle, Ruby spoke softly. “Do you remember the things I told you about my mother? Why Granny raised me?”

“I remember.” Belle would rather not have known how terrible a human could be. She definitely remembered.

“This is the woman who helped me the last time my mother hurt me,” Ruby told her.

Belle’s mouth fell open with her gasp. “She…”

“She can do what Reuel does,” Ruby said, smiling. “She did for years.”

Looking to the woman standing over him, Belle felt her flickering hope grow stronger. “What’s her name?”

“Ask him when he wakes up.” Ruby gave her a wink before walking away.

“I’m not going to back up from saying I _told_ you so,” said the woman beside Reuel. “I told you to stop. Now look at you.”

Bending closer, she said something that they couldn’t hear. She took his hand from his side and lay it open on his chest. “You can heal yourself, boy. Did you not know that? For heaven’s sake, you have people out here worrying to death over you.”

With that, the woman smiled at the whole group of them staring at her, and she left.

Belle went to Reuel. Reaching down, she tripped the side rail so that it would lower, and placed her hand on his where it still rested over his heart. Leaning enough that her chest met his, she felt him move her with each breath. Belle kissed him and buried her face in the side of his neck.

“I love you,” she told him, squeezing his fingers. “I didn’t think I’d ever love anybody the way I love you. You have to wake up, Reuel.”

An incredible warmth emanated from him, making her shiver at the temperature of the surrounding room. His hand moved beneath hers, a deep breath pushing up against her. Belle lifted her head in time to see him open his eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

She was the brightest spot in every room, in that dress. The golden embroidery of large, delicate snowflakes all over warm white silk just shone.

Belle had requested the full circle skirt and kimono cap sleeves, and he’d known why the instant he put it together in his mind’s eye. It flattered every part of her. The dress was perhaps not the most skill-demanding garment he’d ever made, but when she told him she’d never had anything that made her feel so much like a princess, he near burst with pride. 

She’d refused to open the box until he was home. Victor threw his hands up in surrender on Christmas Eve night and discharged him hours after he wakened, in spite of being visibly eager to run more tests. Reuel couldn’t remember the last time he felt in such good condition physically. Not an ache, not a pain.

He remembered Urse being there, had heard how she scolded him. And he was _certain_ she was Urse. He’d felt and heard Belle afterward, pulling him back toward her.

There was already a strong rumor going around that he’d faked the entire thing, and he was inclined to let that settle in. He understood now why Urse lived in the farmhouse, away from everyone, and why she had counseled him to stop. Maybe it _was_ better to take her - and Belle’s and Jefferson’s - advice and just let it go. Maybe it was better to let people believe it had been a hoax.

With Jefferson’s family’s Christmas plans a bit ruined by what they thought was his last trip to the hospital, Reuel asked that they join his family. It had taken some convincing. Priss insisted they were blessed enough to have Jefferson back, but Belle and his aunties chimed in, and they were to have company, after all.

Christmas morning dawned clear and icy, the snow from the day before lingering, blanketing everything in sight. Belle hurried home early to get ready and fetch presents. She’d stayed over again, though they got up to absolutely nothing, having an equal parts worried and excited Bae sleep in with them. Reuel had barely gotten out of the entryway from letting Belle back in when Jefferson knocked at the door. He let them in, and on came the gentle chaos of the others gathering to greet them.

Jefferson preened in his new suit, running his hands down the smooth front of the jacket before unbuttoning it to sit at one end of the sofa. “You’ll have to let it out soon, you know.”

“Before the day is over, if you eat the way I recall,” Reuel razzed him.

“Yeah, I hope you have two turkeys in that oven.” Jefferson looked over at Reuel’s aunts, a glint in his eye.

“A twenty pound turkey and a country ham,” Wiola told him with a fond shake of her head. “They’ll be plenty.”

He slid one leg up to cross over the other. “That’ll work.”

Zinnia chuckled. “If you can eat both-”

“Don’t dare him!” Reuel cautioned, his words quite serious.

Jefferson ran a hand along his clean shaven jaw, laughing. “You’re talking to the man who once ate thirty whoopie pies when challenged.”

“Mm. The aftermath was just as impressive in an entirely horrific way.” Reuel remembered it all too well.

Both Bae and Grace looked to Jefferson in amazement. _“Thirty?”_ Bae asked.

Shaking his head at his son, Reuel mouthed the word, “Never.”

Priss presented Wiola and Zinnia with what appeared to have once been a glorious poinsettia. “I’m so sorry,” she began. “There’s nothing open and I couldn’t in good conscience come over empty handed. I remembered you’re something of plant collectors, so…”

 _“Oh,_ it’s lovely!” Wiola said with absolute sincerity.

Zinnia took the plant from Priss’ arms. “We’ll give it a good home and some pampering. Thank you so much, dear.”

She passed the poinsettia to Reuel, and they set about fussing over Priss. He carried the houseplant into the kitchen. It had seen better days. Reuel could only imagine they didn’t have time to look after it, with Jefferson being as ill as he’d been. Regardless of its condition, he set it on the kitchen counter next to his aunties’ new pet candy cane sorrel, on display.

Reuel glanced back to see whether anyone was coming in behind him. Finding the way clear, he took a closer look at the poinsettia. He touched it, stroking one of the crisp-edged leaves between his fingers.

“This will be our secret, hm?”

The leaves and bracts slowly soaked through with green and red, lifting as life moved back into them. It happened far more slowly than he expected it ought. Reuel looked at his hand, flexing it and wiggling his fingers thoughtfully.

“Papa!” Bae yelled out. “We can’t open presents ’til you’re in here!”

Belle called to him, too, just before stepping into the kitchen. “We’re about to open presents,” she said with a smile, stretching her hand out toward him. “You might have heard.”

Reaching out, he took her hand and let her draw him in close. She tilted her head back and he kissed her, catching her lower lip between his own as he pulled back. He simply watched her face for a moment as he worked up some courage.

Her smile grew. “What?”

“What?” he echoed.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“I’m- funny? No.”

Belle turned her head enough to give him the slightest look askance. “Come on. I’m anxious for you and Bae to see what I got you.”

“Wait. For just a minute.” It needed to be now, he decided. “I have something for you.”

She pressed herself closer to him. “I have something for you, too. Later.”

“It isn’t a Christmas present,” he said, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket to take out a small, blue velvet box. “I want us to be clear on what it is.”

Belle shook her head in confusion before she looked down at the little box as he moved back half a step to bring it up between them. “Reuel.”

He’d already resolved that he wouldn’t be upset if she put him off for a while, or if she outright said no, well aware of how quick this was. They were alone just now, and he didn’t want her to feel pressured by asking in front of the others.

“You’ve got to say it,” she told him, wide-eyed and just a touch breathless. “I’m not assuming. You say it.”

The box opened with a little creak of tight hinges. He offered her a gold ring with an Asscher cut diamond flanked at either side by smaller pearls. It was just the right size not to overwhelm her hand. She plucked it out of the cushion before he could do as she asked.

“Marry me?” Reuel said, quickly following with, “You don’t have to answer if you want to think. I know it’s fast, and I don’t want you to-”

“Oh, my God, of course I’m going to say yes.” She held the ring out to him along with her hand, waiting for him to put it on her finger.

The ring went on perfectly. His eye for measurements didn’t fail him. Belle threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again.

“You’re going to ruffle me, and they’ll know we’ve been up to something,” he told her with a grin.

“Oh, I’m going to ruffle you.” She laughed, rising up on her tiptoes for another kiss. “I want everyone to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry (late) Christmas and Happy New Year! <3


End file.
